Through Her Eyes
by The Cee Factor
Summary: COMPLETELY REVISED. Carmel Mental Health Hospital. Suze has spent the last three years in purgetory. Haunted by her past and surrounded by people who don't believe her story, she waits. For what, no one knows. AU. FINISHED, please review!
1. Prologue

A/N: Some ideas just come to you, fully formed. This idea did when I was fourteen, as a result of too much boredom during Maths and my obsession for the Mediator, and the characters within the series. This story has been a long time in progress, that's for sure. I am now nearly twenty-one. My maths has never been good, but I believe that is nearly seven years. I am a poor excuse for a writer.

This story has actually been completed for a while, and it was only the messages, reviews and favourites this story has received, even four years later, that spurred me into uploading it all again.

Through Her Eyes has undergone a facelift that only graduating high school and being four years through a university degree will cause. It is overhauled and re-edited, with added characters, different personalities, scenes, plot points and…well, an ending.

So. It's been a while (understatement). I've really appreciated all the kind words and reviews I have ever received for this story for the time it has existed. For all who are reading this now (if there are any), I appreciate you re-investing your time in this story after all these years. If not, I'm sorry this took so long.

So. This is the story I've had planned since the beginning. I'm still not happy with the prologue or chapter one, something that hasn't changed. Constructive criticism will always be appreciated.

Now…awhn with eet.

PS – Some character photos and the music playlist are on my profile.

**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, settings and plot points belong to the goddess Meg Cabot, who I still bow down to. Everything else is mine.**

**Note: For new readers, this is very Alternate Universe. The characters you recognise may have been tweaked personality-wise, slightly, but this is for the sake of the story. **

* * *

**Prologue**

Carmel Mental Health Hospital.

My home for the last four years. It never wanes, it never ceases, and each day runs into the next…a constant stream of monotony.

Sometimes I'm woken at night by screams, but it is the silence that slowly erodes your mind. My "previous life", as I like to refer to it, feels like another dimension—one which I barely existed in. My memories grow vaguer everyday. The only grip on my old life is remembering what happened to get me in here in the first place.

I am told on a daily basis that I am in denial. When I speak the truth, it goes ignored. Words spoken by a person legally declared as insane are never acknowledged, let alone believed. The more I try to convince them otherwise, the more deeply entrenched they become in their diagnosis.

They tell me that it's not real, what I remember. If it wasn't for my tenacity, I may have begun to believe them. It's an easy thought to entertain late at night while I'm being kept awake by someone else's nightmares. When you are surrounded by people who think you are crazy—and people who actually _are_—the line blurs. The idea that my life was a subconscious rendition of things that hadn't actually happened, and never would, is sometimes a promising one. Oblivion doesn't sound so bad, and it would probably be a little quieter.

And despite it all, I can't help but hope. Misplaced hope, maybe, but hope all the same. I have lost everything else, and it is the only thing that remains.

People from my previous life sometimes said that it is hard to accept life the way it is. I can tell you from experience that they are wrong. It's not just life. When you are like me, and I have met a few who are, you get both ends of the deal. You have to accept the dead the same way you accept the living, and you are able to do so when you are plagued by those from both sides.

I see the dead. The doctors and nurses say that I _think_ I can, but I _know_ I can. I know, because I've been able to for a very long time. I can see, speak to, and even touch the dead and I use my ability to make both planes of existence more peaceful for those involved. I had been doing it—quietly, unsuspecting—for twenty-three years, which was how old I was when my ability was discovered. I was driven by the idea that there should be peace when you moved on. I hated the idea of people suffering in limbo, if I had the ability to stop it.

I suppose you can call it ironic. My ability had been my undoing, in the end. For someone whose karma reading should be off the charts, it certainly seemed like a kick in the pants. Public humiliation, and then sent a hospital with more similarities to that of a prison—except no one is bailing me out for good behaviour.

And only one name remains, only one person reminding me my previous life was real, that _he_ is real, and that what happened was real.

Michael Hindler.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

**PRESENT TIME**

A sharp rap on my door brought me out of my thoughts. It opened slowly, revealing my favourite nurse, a plump woman with dark skin, intelligent eyes and a charming smile.

Cassie.

She didn't believe my stories, but she never held them against me either. And when I stopped mentioning the ghosts, she did too.

"Morning Suze, how are we today?" she asked cheerfully, holding the door wide open.

I shrugged. "Fine," I answered like I did everyday, granting her the enthusiasm she deserved. She gestured outwards into the brightly lit but sterile hallway, and I followed obediently, the cold vinyl freezing under the bare soles of my feet. I used my fingers to rake through my hair, an old habit from my previous life where my looks mattered.

I followed Cassie out into the main dining hall, accepted my tray and food, and sat down alone at one of the long tables. When I first arrived I was constantly paranoid that a patient would try and drive a plastic spoon into my heart if I so much as said one word to them, and instead sat in the corner and hoped I would go unnoticed. I found out later that half are not nearly as unstable.

Although most of the patients were good value in terms of conversation, I never usually spoke to them unless they approached me first. It was the norm for me.

What had also become the norm was Henrietta—a patient at Carmel long before I had come along—a girl with lank, oily brown hair that looked almost black and sunken eyes and cheeks. She usually slithered over during meal times, stationed herself on the opposite table, and stared at me unblinking, her dark eyes searching for something.

I once made the mistake of moving when she did this. Now I took no notice of her. It's the tried and tested method to ensure she didn't go completely psychotic over me or my eggs.

I'm the only one she does it to, as well. I've never seen her do it to Freda or June, patients who sometimes sit with me, or to Charlotte who talks to everybody, or to Susan who is always laughing.

Just me.

Even though we are always shuffled outside after meal times, I always seemed to be able to slip away soon after. I used to get in trouble for this, now they just didn't seem to care. Instead I preferred to wander aimlessly down the empty halls, my footsteps echoing as I pass cell after cell.

Today was a little different. The closer I returned to my own cell, the louder a woman's screaming became. I recognised it, too.

Peeking through the small rectangular glass window that was situated at eye level in every door, I watched Michelle hollering loudly as they forced her into a straight jacket. By _them_ I meant Marcia and a few other wardens.

They, I knew, would keep her in that straight jacket until her schizophrenic episode passed, episodes which were becoming more and more frequent. I had no idea why, but they got worse every time. It was a wonder they hadn't located her to the high-security section, but then again I also wasn't a professional nurse.

I stepped out of the way and leant against the wall as the wardens opened the door and filed out, not even glancing in my direction. Most were too busy fussing over the scratches they had on their forearms; some of the marks were even bleeding. They sauntered over to the first aid office, and I continued to look through the little window, watching Michelle attempt to fight her way out of the white material without luck.

I felt my heart sink with pity. It was awful.

This place was awful; a monotonous, harsh and cruel place.

Until _he_ came.

A new doctor had transferred from the other side of the country, or so I heard by eavesdropping on the nurses a few weeks later. They were excited.

The excitement was a little infectious, too. I hadn't heard that kind of emotion for a very long time. I could hear Marcia giggling in a way that made me nauseas. I could just imagine her pushing her styled brown hair away from her eyes with fingernails that were always manicured.

"And look at his headshot! It's a shame I'm married."

She was ridiculous.

"I heard," one of them whispered, "that he's foreign!"

"I heard that he's Spanish," another said.

"And only twenty-nine."

"How exotic!" another replied. I recognised this voice as Davida's, one of the younger staff members. "When is he coming?"

"Tomorrow," Marcia answered. I could hear her placing the folder back in the filing cabinet. "I can't wait. We'll finally get some excitement around here."

There were murmurs of agreement and then the doors swung open. Marcia was the first to step out.

She was nearly six foot tall, even taller if you counted the huge chip on her shoulder, and perfectly coiffed. I felt like tripping her over, if only to mess up her perfect presentation for a few moments. She sneered at me—who was leaning up against the wall, trying to look like I hadn't been eavesdropping—as soon as she saw me.

"Shouldn't you be outside, Suze?"

I rolled my eyes. "Make me."

Her blue eyes narrowed. She'd used too much eyeliner today. "I could. Don't try me, crazy bitch."

"That's a new one."

"I've got plenty more."

"No doubt. It's more interesting in here."

She was unable to respond to that, since her fellow employees had started filing out of the office. Instead she set off down the hallway, casting disapproving glances over her shoulder every second stride.

Ironic, I suppose, that the person I hated the most in this entire institution was probably the only one who knew I didn't have any screws loose at all.

I turned my thoughts to this new doctor. I was interested in who it would be, especially with all the nurses swooning over a picture I couldn't see. I decided then and there I was going to wander around tomorrow to see if I could get a glimpse of the guy. Just, you know, to see who I was going to have to put up from now on.

Turns out I didn't have to go looking anywhere. On the contrary, he came to me.


	3. Chapter Two

"_You thought you'd found a friend  
To take you out of this place.  
Someone you could lend a hand  
In return for grace."_

U2: "Beautiful Day"

**Chapter Two**

**FOUR YEARS EARLIER – MARCH 2007**

I kept my eyes jammed shut and my head planted in the pillow, using my hand to try and reach the alarm clock. My fingers brushed up the side of my bedside table, onto a wide, circular object.

Lamp.

My hand travelled lethargically further.

Necklace.

And further.

Book. Phone. Brush.

Why the heck did I put my alarm clock so far back, anyway?

Finally, with success, I found the snooze button and slammed it. Except it didn't work. U2 obviously had no idea they were cutting into my sleep, because they kept singing.

I groaned and shoved the pillow over my head to drown out the music. Just a little rest. Just a little more rest…

And then my phone went off.

Bringing my head out from underneath the pillow, I looked through a layer of bleariness and located the black flashing piece of technology I wished had never been invented at that moment.

"Hullo?" I yawned into the speaker, simultaneously managing to shut the radio off.

"Suze?" The voice was so cheerful and perky I had to hold my phone away from my ear. I could still hear her screech, "You're still in BED?"

"Cee, volume," I moaned in response, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling.

She giggled. "Sorry, it's just Adam is such an early riser and-"

"NOT an early riser," I heard him mutter in the background.

"7am is go time when you're a journalist," Cee Cee reminded me. After graduation and college, Cee Cee had become a reporter for the local newspaper. 'Informing the roots', she called it.

Instead of filling me with happiness that my friend had achieved her dream, like it would at any other sensible hour of the day, I said, "7am?" and then glanced at the clock and swore. "You woke me up at 6:30? Cee, if you weren't my best friend, I'd have a homicide on my hands."

"Whatever, Simon. Are we still on for this afternoon?"

I forced my brain to think. My diary was lying conveniently on the other side of the room, and I wasn't sacrificing warmth for clarity just yet. I knew I had something on, but I couldn't remember.

Clearly not important enough.

"Sure, whatever," I mumbled.

Cee squealed with joy, and then stopped abruptly. "Speaking of jobs, aren't YOU late for something?"

I glanced at my alarm clock and swore again. I guess it had woken me up for a reason.

"I gotta go. Mr Lachlan's gonna fry my ass."

"My point exactly," she said, before hanging up.

I threw back the covers and opened the curtains, letting the early morning sun seep in. Today was the first day of my early shifts, a new change in roster which meant that I sacrificed sleep for a free afternoon.

…It had seemed like a stellar idea at the time.

Taking another fleeting glance at the clock I went about my morning routine in double time, attempting to do something halfway decent with my long brown hair, then choking down a granola bar and a cup of juice and running out the door with a few minutes to spare. I ended up being one of the first ones to arrive, beating Mr Lachlan by five minutes and saving myself a lecture and a half.

I worked in a police office, turning notes into hard copies which go into files which would then be sorted and stored. If you think my job sounds soulless, you'd be right.

I'd no sooner sat down at my desk when Terry walked in, carrying a stack of folders about as high as my shins. He was one of the male assistants in my part of the office, and regularly made fun of himself for his geeky nature by wearing suspenders and shirts with pocket protectors. He smiled apologetically and bid me goodbye with a "hate to be you" remark.

I began my work. The first case was a robbery.

Standard. Boring.

The second was slightly more interesting—an _armed_ robbery.

Then after that was vandalism, breaking and entering…the usual problems found in suburbia.

And then there was a murder. I'd only ever done one before, because murders just never seemed to happen in our part of town.

I didn't have to do anything but type up the case report and write down the basics (blood type, full name, age, etc), so the only things I learned was that the girl was sixteen and had lived on the outskirts of our town on a farm. There weren't any details about how she was discovered, or the state she had been in, because I looked. All I knew is that I didn't know her, but I sure as hell felt sorry for her.

Work progressed in the usual state, and before I knew it I at the nearest coffee shop, a regular haunt for my group of friends since high school. We preferred this place for the fast service and the old-school setting. Vinyl booths lined the walls of the shop, situated under large windows covered by thick curtains. It was warm and cosy, preferable to all the other places that favoured style over comfort.

I was sitting in one of these booths right now, with Cee Cee and Adam sitting across from me, hand in hand. Their faces were excited, and from the way they were clutching each other's fingers, I knew it was important.

"Suze, Adam and I have something to tell you."

"You're pregnant?" I guess flatly.

Adam laughed just a bit too loudly, catching the attention of a couple sitting in the booth behind us. Cee Cee just held out her left hand, her blush a stark contrast to the platinum blonde of her hair. There was a little amethyst that matched her eyes, cushioned between two small diamonds on a thin band. I gaped.

"Whoa, Adam. It's gorgeous," I admitted, pulling it closer. It was everything Cee Cee was: beautiful and refined, and yet never one to follow the crowd.

He smiled modestly, running a hand up the back of his dark hair. "I had to resort to her, considering you never gave me a chance."

Cee Cee slapped him playfully. I smiled excitedly. "So, made any plans?"

Adam shrugged. "Probably sometime in the next year or so?"

Overwhelmed, I sank back against the couch, my hands cradling the extra strong latte in front of me.

I had met Adam in my first computer class in high school, all brown hair and green eyes, and he had kept me sane during all the website classes with constant jokes and sarcasm. Cee Cee came into the picture a few years later. She had transferred from a different school, and my first impression of her was that she was striking: she was tall, she was confident in her abilities (if not in social situations), and was one of the most beautiful people I'd ever seen. Some people superficially dismissed her because of her albino features, but I never understood them for it. I could never remember exactly how I began talking to Cee Cee, but it didn't matter; we became fast friends.

It had taken a few more years for Cee Cee and Adam to become an item, but once they had everybody realised how perfect they were together, complete opposites that evened each other out.

And now they were getting married.

"I'm so happy for you both," I said honestly. I asked how Adam had proposed, and Cee Cee launched into an epic story which involved a practical joke and a scavenger hunt. Pure Adam, through and through.

"So," Adam interrupted, stopping Cee Cee as she was waxing poetic about the bad haiku rhymes he had left as clues, "how are things with you and…" he trailed off when he saw the look on my face.

Dominic. I had forgotten all about him and our date. I was supposed to meet him at a café across town at 5.30pm and it was now…

Way past that. Shit.

I quickly excused myself, and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I made an excuse about work and a traffic jam, and told Dominic I would be there soon. It was hard to tell over the phone if he believed my story, but I tried not to worry about it. I hugged and waved to my friends and was about to drive away when my phone rang. My mouth formed a thin line when I read the caller ID.

"Paul Slater. What do you want?"

"I swear you get nicer and nicer as the years go on. How are you?"

"Perfectly well until a few moments ago, to be honest."

He laughed. "You break my heart every time Suze. You have no idea, the beating my self esteem has taken since I met you-"

"Shut up for a second before you hurt yourself." I started the car, checking my reflection in the mirror. "What do you want?"

He didn't say anything for a moment. "I like how you automatically assume I want something just because I've called you."

"You always do."

I could just imagine him nodding, the smile he got when he knew he was about to annoy me most likely plastered over his face. "Yeah, you're right." I knew it. I so, so knew it. "It's just one little thing. It won't take up much of your time."

I applied my lip gloss, only half-listening. "Before you even waste your breath, my answer is no."

"Shit, Suze. Cut me some slack. I'm asking if you'd be interested in joining that little place I work. We're hiring, per se."

I blinked, and took a few seconds to formulate my response. "Is that little place you're referring to the position you took from underneath me six months ago?"

He had the grace to sound a little ashamed. "Yeah, I see why my existence probably pisses you off some. But I've been working them ever since to let you in."

"You're a kind soul."

"Aren't I ever? So, tell me you're interested in coming to an interview. It's cake, and with me supporting you, you'll be in."

I examined my nails. "I find it hard to believe you want us to work together. We've done it before, and I'll only make you look bad eventually."

"When?" he asked, confused.

"You remember that time, with the meatballs?"

His silence told me he did, in fact, remember. I smiled in victory.

"We're older now," he finally replied. "Wiser. Mature. At least I am. And you can be too, if you put your mind to it. Tell me you're interested."

"If it's with you, I'm not," I replied honestly.

"Words hurt."

"Hearing your voice hurts."

"So just to clarify…you want me to tell my superiors that you're passing up this opportunity because you prefer to sit in an office every day and type up reports that someone else is experiencing? Actually, I don't know why you ever wanted to leave. It sounds perfect to me."

"Sometimes I wish I could kill you and make it look accidental."

Paul just laughed; his voice as confident as ever. "I miss having you around Suze."

"No you don't."

"Maybe I don't. But you have to admit, we're an interesting pair."

There was some truth, I knew, in that statement at least.

It was well past six now. Dominic was going to be pissed off. But what I hadn't said to Paul, but I was sure he knew very well, was how badly I wanted in on this job. I wanted it so, so badly. I had been decimated when I'd missed out six months ago.

"So what do you think? Are you in?" he pressed.

I was probably going to regret this. I sighed.

"I'm in."


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

**APRIL 2007**

Joining the task force had been easier than I had anticipated, and it turned out that Paul supporting me was a very good thing indeed. For once he had said exactly what he had meant, and it was probably the influence of his new girlfriend, whose name I could never remember—Maree, or something?—keeping him on the straight and narrow.

My first official day on the job had been more like a social gathering than anything else. The meeting was held in a large boardroom, with a long, circular table in the middle. People in suits stood in groups, most taking residence next to the large food stand which looked like the main draw for attendance. I barely had time to become nervous, because the moment I walked through the doors with Paul, a petite blonde woman with a huge smile swooped over and shook my hand.

"You must be the new recruit, Susannah Simon. I'm Vicki."

I shook her hand and tried to keep the bewilderment off my face. Paul just laughed at my discomfort as Vicki took off towards the food table, looking more like an athlete than a detective.

"Keep calm Simon. You'll get through this," he muttered in my ear. I nudged his ribs with my elbow and kept walking as he steered me over to some hideously intimidating people. The one on the far right, Tony, had interviewed me just two weeks before and he smiled in encouragement behind his glasses, but the other two were a mystery. I shook their hands, trying not to wilt under their searching gazes. They were sizing me up.

The tallest man of the group nodded to me. "My name is Derek Sarpetti. This is my assistant Nicola Williams," he gestured to the tight-lipped woman on his left who looked like she would be a lot of fun, for sure, "and you've already met Tony Martin. He was very impressed by you."

I just nodded, never having been one for flattery. "Thank you for this opportunity, Mr Sarpetti, Mr Martin."

"Mr Slater said you were the best. We're not taking his words lightly," Nicola's eyes drifted over to Paul in the way most women looked at him: lustful, but with a hint of scorn. Such was his way.

"I'll try not to let him down," I replied easily.

"Welcome to the task force," Derek said, clearly the most easy-going of the three. "What we do in this sector is supremely confidential. Think of us as…a black-ops unit within the government, if you like. Using each of your skills, we provide evidence the forensics can't. Using whatever means necessary."

I shot Paul a dirty look.

Using our skills. He was in so much trouble. Paul obviously didn't think so, however.

"You wanted in, I got you in. Deal with it."

I ignored him until Derek, Nicola and Tony moved onto the next group, and then I grabbed the end of his suit jacket and pulled him out one of the side doors.

I kicked the door shut and turned to him, my hands on my hips, taking a good look at the creature standing in front of me.

I had known Paul for so long, but he sometimes still took me off guard. He was tanned and tall, and always had been, but it was a tallness that hinted at disclosed strength. He held himself in such a confident and assured manner, the kind of confidence you see in a car salesman who thinks he's on the home stretch. His face and jaw was strong and covered with the beginnings of stubble, his lips full and pink and eyes so blue I felt like I was being analysed every time he looked at me. I had always been envious of his hair, how it was deep brown and curled when it grew too long, which was the case right now. The only fault you could see was a slight bump just below the bridge of his nose.

When we had been younger, my mother had always said he had the face of an angel, and the heart of a devil. I had always thought the devil part was an overstatement, but I could still see him for what he was.

"You're an asshole."

Paul just laughed. "Shit, Suze. Take it down a notch."

"Tell me why I shouldn't break your nose _again_?"

"I thought I said before. I got you in."

"You told! I'd never do that to you!"

He cleared the space between us and grabbed one of my hands. He almost looked sincere, if I didn't know him any better. "I promise I didn't. Besides, we're like Rose and Jack on the Titanic. I sink you and you sure as hell can sink me."

I cleared my throat in indignation. "That's not the way the saying goes."

"But I mean it. I just alluded to your excellent track record. And I don't speak nice of anybody, ever."

That I could believe. I still looked at him suspiciously, pulling my hand away. "You _alluded_. Is that why during my interview they were giving me all these case studies and 'what if' questions? I thought that was just standard."

"It _is_ just standard. But they know how good I am," I resisted the impulse to snigger, "and I told them that we had always been a team. I can't do as much on my own as I want to, but with you I could."

I could hear movement in the next room. We were running out of time.

I bit my lip and stared him down. His last admission had been one of the most honest I'd ever heard, and he really _did_ look sincere, so for now I was just going to let it ride.

"Okay."

I turned and opened the door, and walked back into the board room.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

**PRESENT TIME**

I was walking outside a few hours after my eavesdropping incident when I ran into Michelle. She was a beauty at twenty-four, with straight platinum blonde hair and the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. She would have looked in place on a beach somewhere, but instead her place was in cell 2B, right next to mine.

"Hey Suze," she said, striking up a conversation. This was a rarity for her; she usually talked about as much as I did.

"You okay?" I replied.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, fine. Heard a rumour we're getting a new warden."

"That's what I heard, too."

"Wonder what he's like?"

I just shrugged. "Does it really matter?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "I…suppose it doesn't. I'm feeling good at the moment."

I smiled, not sure how to respond, and we walked in silence. You wouldn't be blamed for thinking Michelle was fairly normal, but then again you wouldn't know that she had severely mutilated a co-worker for thinking he were coming to 'get' her, which was the reason why she was in here. But, you know, aside from the bouts of schizophrenia, she wasn't too bad. The wardens just kept a closer eye on her than most.

Usually.

I was sitting awake later that night and picking at my nails, having given up on sleep a long time ago. Michelle was howling like an animal next door, and I could hear the thumps on the wall we shared indicating she was taking her aggression out on the fixtures.

Marcia had first heard her begin another episode several hours ago, and a few of the other nurses had forced her into another straightjacket, and left Michelle there alone. I had frowned on this, like I always do. I may not have known much about psychiatric wards before now, but I did know that patients that reacted the way Michelle did were locked up in the 'special' room for a bit of 'alone' time. But that never happened when Marcia was in charge.

Something felt wrong about this time, though.

I'd been locked in for the night—in other words, they'd put me to bed and shut the door—so I rose from my cot and opened my cell door, moving to the small pane of glass that saw into Michelle's room.

My stomach plummeted and I gasped, grabbing the door handle. It was locked.

"Michelle!" I yelled through the door, trying to get her attention. "Michelle! Stop it!" I tried again. I pounded on the thick class with my palms, but she didn't hear me. At least, I don't think she did. I needed help.

I took off towards the office at the corner of the hall, only to find it abandoned. I nearly screamed in frustration and ran down another hall, working my way towards the main part of the hospital where some staff is always present. The longer I went without finding someone, the more frantic I became.

I swore under my breath as I rounded yet another corner, to find no one.

"Is anyone here?" I yelled, my voice ricocheting off the walls and ending in an echo. I didn't hear any movement, apart from the ticking of a clock to my left, steady just like a dripping tap. It was the only thing that answered me.

I tore off down another hallway, tripping over my bare feet. "Please!" I cried again, looking around frantically. Tears were flowing steady now, blurring my vision. I wiped at my cheeks impatiently as I continued down the maze, each corridor looking exactly the same. Empty, dark and cold.

"Anyone?"

After a few more minutes, my adrenalin ebbing away, I began to just simply walk. There was no one. No one cared.

Making one last futile attempt, I asked croakily, "Anybody? Is anyone here?"

Finally, I heard a patter of heavy footsteps coming from behind.

"Miss?" asked a man I didn't recognise, accompanied by a harried-looking Davida.

Grateful, I pointed down the hallway and started running, shouting, "Come on!"

Davida shook her head as they followed me. I heard her say, "What is the matter? Seen another ghost?"

I glared at her from over my shoulder. "It's Michelle, she…"

Words couldn't explain it.

They seemed to understand. I sped down the endless hallways with the doctor and nurse on my heels. When I finally reached Michelle's door, I let out a sob and turned away, leaning against the wall opposite. The doctor swore under his breath, tried to doorknob, and when that failed took out his keys hurriedly.

"Oh my god!" Davida gasped.

I looked through the gaps between my fingers, took in the image once the door opened, and quickly shut my eyes again.

Blood.

It was smeared everywhere. All over the walls like some gruesome modern painting. Splattered all over the floor and bed. The blue sheets had become a peculiar purple colour, and the straightjacket Michelle wore was no longer white.

She was lying on the floor. Her blonde hair was matted and knotted into clumps, half red with blood, the other half…a lot darker.

As I gazed over her crumpled form, I realised something horrific. Michelle's screams hadn't been of fear and frustration. They had been of pain.

"Why wasn't this patient in lockup? Why wasn't she put in the safe room?"

Safe room. Nice euphemism for the padded room, right there. The doctor demanded a ton of questions of Davida as he tried desperately to find a pulse on her neck.

But he wouldn't find it, I knew. She was long gone.

Davida looked sheepish and guilty. "I wasn't in charge of her today."

"Then who was?" he asked, pulling Michelle up into a sitting position and observing her lifeless face.

"I don't know," she said defensively. I glared at her. _Liar_.

I said this word softly.

"Pardon?" the doctor asked.

"You're a liar," I repeated.

Davida narrowed her brown eyes. "Who are you," she asked menacingly, "to accuse _me_ of lying?" I blinked at her anger. "For all we know, you could have been the reason she did this! With all your delusions and fabrications, you could have driven her to do this. Did you ever think about that?" she continued, walking towards me with every step. I could see a vein throbbing in the centre of her forehead. "Did you ever _think_ about _that_?"

The new guy left Michelle and grabbed Davida's upper arm. "Do not threaten the patients. She had nothing to do with it."

"Oh really?" Davida spat, her lip curling. She pointed at me. "Don't you know who this is? You don't recognise her? She's crazy! She isn't a real person, not anymore."

I rolled my eyes at her theatrics, and stepped back. "Shit, I feel a little objectified. _She_ has a name, you know."

"Yeah, patient number 147-"

"ENOUGH," the man roared. Davida's sentence gave way to a sort of whimpering noise. "Don't speak to her that way," he said to her. He turned to me. "What happened?"

I sighed. "Several hours ago Michelle began to have another episode, and the shift supervisor, Marcia, as well as Davida," she glared at me angrily, "and a few other nurses went into her cell and strapped her up. As usual, they didn't take her anywhere safe. Some could say they almost aren't bothered-"

Davida had been scoffing at me the entire time. "Stop lying!"

"-Not," I continued as if she had never interrupted, "that we really matter to society or anybody, really, but that's what happened. I checked on her a few minutes ago and found Michelle beating herself to death."

"Who do you think you are?" Davida spat, looking about ready to throw a tantrum.

I smiled at her sarcastically. "Apparently insane, but you already knew that."

If looks could kill. The new doctor hid a smile, instead shooting a peculiar glance in my direction. Almost as if he couldn't figure something out. Turning to Davida, he said, "Phone the ambulance."

"Why? She's dead."

His mouth twisted a little. "Just do it."

Davida nodded and left.

We were left alone. I finally got the chance to look at him properly. Without a doubt, he was the new warden Marcia had been swooning over the other day. His features were bold, instantly striking, but in a way that made you want to look at him more. The more I looked, the more handsome I realised he was. He was tall but not lanky, with a sharp masculine face. Even though he sounded American, there was an accent tainting his voice that I couldn't recognise. His tanned skin and short dark hair that curled up a little against his neck indicated somewhere foreign. His right eyebrow had a scar running clean through it, but instead of detracting from his looks, it just made him look more intriguing. His eyes were a deep brown, and right now they were trained on me in a steady gaze.

"You should go back to bed. It will be hard, I know, but some sleep might help."

I scratched the back of my neck, and nodded in a completely unconvinced way. I walked the few paces to my cell and slammed the door in his face.

I didn't sleep at all that night. Every time I closed my eyes I saw blood dripping out of the wounds on her head. From her mouth. Running out of her nose. Everywhere, like she had bathed in it.

Eventually the moon gave way to the first rays of sunshine. Still I stayed inside. I couldn't go out into that hallway. But I didn't want to stay in here, either. I couldn't stay at this place, period. I didn't want to. I couldn't live here.

Turns out, we don't always get what we want.

Today was time for my weekly check-up.

There was a polite knock on the door a few hours after breakfast, but I didn't bother to answer. Instead I gazed out the window, leaning against the concrete wall and trying to make pictures out of the clouds.

"Susannah Simon?" a voice, soft but deep, came from the doorway. It was the doctor from last night.

The only acknowledgement I gave him was, "Where's Dr Francis?"

He paused. "He retired. Didn't you know?"

I shrugged. "He didn't tell me. They don't tend to issue out the gossip to us. You have to eavesdrop if you want it."

He came in and sat down on the edge of my cot, pulling out a clipboard from under his arm that I hadn't noticed. I looked back out the window again.

"Seeing how this is my first run with you we'll start with the basics. Do you know how old you are?"

"It's written down in front of you. Next."

There was a shuffle of paper. "I see that. Very good. Now can _you_ tell me?"

"Twenty seven," I whispered.

"Sorry?"

"I'm twenty seven," I said, louder.

"How long have you been staying here for?"

"You would know that as well, _amigo_." I looked over my shoulder to see he was amused.

"Call me Dr DeSilva."

"Sorry _DeSilva_." I looked away. "Three years and three hundred and eleven days."

"That is…exact of you."

"Not much else to do with my days but count them." I turned a little bit so I could watch him taking notes down. "So what is the diagnosis this week?"

His lips rose at the sides. "You sound like you already know the answer."

I nodded. "Haven't you heard? I'm insane in the membrane. Fear me, and everything I speak of."

Dr DeSilva actually laughed at that one. "So, do you remember why you are here? Do you remember what you did?"

"Like you haven't already heard."

He put the clipboard aside and looked at me attentively.

I half shrugged. "It's pretty simple. I was given a choice, and I chose the wrong option. Now I'm here talking to you."

For what it was worth, he seemed really interested. "Continue."

I shook my head. "I don't feel like it. Besides, I could be, er, _lying_."

"Do you think you're crazy?"

His question was so blunt, and so unprecedented. No one in here had ever asked me that before, because I suppose they thought they already knew the answer.

"I think all the patients that are here would like to believe that they're perfectly sane."

"But do you think you are?" he pressed.

I bit my lip and looked at him. He looked understanding, with none of the hard reserve he had held last night when he was dealing with the situation with Michelle. "I don't know. Isn't that what you're here for, to ask me questions and diagnose me?" He had a trustworthy face, I decided. The problem is, trusting too easily was the thing that had landed me in here.

"I guess that's true," he admitted.

"Well, then. Start asking."


	6. Chapter Five

"_The past, the present,  
And the future,  
Are all side by side,  
Hand in hand.  
You move and change,  
Yet you go nowhere:  
Everything stays the same."_

Kate Havnevik: "Unlike Me"

**Chapter Five**

**PRESENT TIME**

I didn't know anything about Cassie's dismissal until the next morning. This was around the same time all the legal stuff came in about Michelle's suicide, and lawyers were the only people that came to claim her body.

I know for a fact Michelle had a family out there, because she had told me so. But they were also those of the rich socialite persuasion. She didn't need to elaborate on their absence.

I was once again eavesdropping, leaning against the cold wall with my ear to the staff door. I knew Marcia and Davida, plus a few of the other nurses, were in there. They were speaking in hushed tones, which made things difficult—though not impossible—to hear. I heard the word "fired", and strained my ears.

"…mine and Davida's fault apparently. He was furious. I swear, she's nothing but a mental piece of shit and he's actually listening to her."

"She wasn't lying though," said another voice.

It was actually quite ego-boosting to be referred to as 'mental piece of shit'.

Davida sighed. "I know that, but we couldn't let the authorities know we slipped up on protocol, we'd be out of our jobs quicker than anything. I don't know about you, Felicity, but I've got a mother in hospital I have to support."

"I'm playing my violin for you, Davida. I've got three kids."

"So," Marcia said, cutting off the conversation. She sounded final. "I did what I had to do. My husband recommended it as the best course of action. Cassandra was close to retiring anyway."

I frowned. What?

Marcia was continuing, her voice sounding suspiciously like she was gloating. "I got a hold of the manager, told him that Cassandra gave the order for Michelle. It is all of us against her, and…well, we just have to make sure it never happens again."

I looked at the floor, wanting to punch something, preferably Marcia. I should have known something was wrong when Cassie didn't visit the day before my weekly check-up, but I had been so consumed with what had happened with Michelle I hadn't thought anything of it. And now she was gone.

There were a few moments silence, and then three-kids-Felicity quietly suggested, "We could always try and get the crazed bitch shipped to the high security section."

I'd like to see them try.

"We can't." To my surprise, it was Marcia had said it. "It would never work, she's not unstable enough. If it wasn't for the ghost issue, she would be completely normal."

Damn straight.

"Completely normal? After what Michael Hindler did to her and her family? Her friends? I'm surprised she didn't go crazy earlier."

"Yeah," Davida added, "I mean, he killed her own-"

I pulled away. I didn't want to hear anymore.

Remembering your past is something I never wanted to do, but sometimes running from it never works, even in a mental hospital.

"Susannah?" the now-familiar voice of Dr DeSilva, slightly accented and not entirely unwelcome, came from the doorway a few hours later. "You have a few visitors."

I shook my head, and twisted one of the sheets around my fingers. "I…I don't want to see them." I was surprised at how shaky my voice sounded.

He sounded uncomfortable. "They, uh, insisted."

I slowly rose, feeling like I was about to face a firing squad. I stretched my limbs and shook my hair over my shoulders, walking through the door Dr DeSilva held open for me.

They might have insisted, but that didn't mean I didn't take my sweet time getting to the visiting area. Dr DeSilva accompanied me down the hall, not raising conversation. He just walked in the steady way he always seemed to, his mind obviously elsewhere.

Finally, we reached our destination. It was a typical visiting station, similar to a jail, except there were no phones and glass walls to divide the room. The white, sterile walls and silence were still present though. There was one plastic chair on my side of the table, and four chairs on the opposite. I nodded to Dr DeSilva, and sat myself down, not looking at any of the people seated in those chairs.

It was a long time before the one in the middle cleared his throat. "Uh, how are we going, kiddo?"

I didn't dignify that question with a response.

Andy, my stepfather, swallowed loudly and glanced at the three people flanking his sides that used to be my step-brothers.

Finally, I replied. "I'm fine." I sounded rough and uneven, but I was doing him a favour, especially since he didn't even have to _be_ here.

Since I'm not technically his stepdaughter anymore.

But I knew what he was going to say. What he was going to remind me of.

"Well, as you know…" Andy seemed to be having great difficultly piecing together a sentence. Mostly because he just kept looking at me like I might lunge at him at any moment. And he probably wanted to talk about the subject as much as I did. "As you know," he began again, "today is-"

"I know what today is," I said, cutting him short. I was staring at the desk, determined not to look at him. "I haven't forgotten."

He swallowed again, and looked helplessly at the guy…_man_ who used to be my stepbrother. Brad was the middle child in Andy's family, but he was a year older than me. At twenty-seven he had long given up the drug and alcohol abuse that characterised his high school days and now looked focused and confident. And if the brightness in his eyes and ring on his finger was any indication, he was happy.

I pointed casually to Brad's hand. "You've gotten married since I saw you last."

He frowned, looked at his hand, then relaxed. "Oh…yeah. I did. It was five months last week." He looked like he wanted be elsewhere.

"Congratulations."

My eyes moved next to him, to Jake, the oldest at twenty-nine. He offered me a smile, open and friendly, it not a tad…unemotional. Jake and emotion weren't two things I had ever usually tied together, and this still seemed to be the case. David, who was the youngest and probably nearing twenty-two now, showed the most amount of change. He'd grown up so much. They all had.

And they were all staring at me.

"Suze, kiddo, it's just…your mother would have wanted us to see you. To…reunite," Andy said, a little desperately, like he was trying to salvage the situation.

I narrowed my eyes a little, trying to keep my voice steady. "How would you know? She probably would have wanted to be alive again. Isn't that what all dead people want?"

"You should know," Brad muttered, and David elbowed him in the ribs, effectively shutting him up.

But I was done. It is a daunting prospect to imagine your own family standing amongst others in disbelief of your abilities, but it was my current situation, and I didn't want to deal with it anymore. I didn't say goodbye, and I didn't say thanks. Instead I got up and strode from the room in my flimsy pants and thinning shirt.

"Suze! Wait!" I heard Andy shouting, but they were fruitless attempts. I wouldn't talk to them. No one believed my innocence.

Instead of going back to my cell—which was my first instinct—I decided to go outside. The hospital was situated on a hill surrounded by grass and forestry. In the distance you could see the town that I had grown up in. The main area I was in now was paved with a few tables and chairs bolted to the ground, and surrounded by a high chain link fence, topped with barbed wire. Beyond that fence lay grass, and at the base of the hill sat another chain link fence.

I wasn't the only one enjoying the sunshine, but I felt like I was. Ignoring those sitting on the tables, I walked over to the far side and leant up against the chain link fence, closing my eyes. I sat there until I felt a drop of water land on the back of my neck. Touching it with my fingers, I looked up and noticed dark storm clouds rolling in from above the trees.

Patients started walking inside, leaving me alone. I considered following them, but I didn't want to go back inside just yet. Besides, rain had never bothered me, so I started walking along the perimeter of the fence. I let my arms dangle at my side and trailed my fingers through the holes, the way I did when I was a kid walking past someone's fence on the way to school.

It was because I was so focused on the natural silence that always occurs before a storm hits—when everything is so balanced and serene, like nothing could ever go wrong—that I didn't notice the person beside me until I heard a shrill scream of frustration, and felt two hands being clamped around my neck.

Henrietta ploughed me violently against the fence. I felt my right arm sprain as it was bent ruthlessly behind my back at a sharp angle and kept there. Shock froze me for a moment, and then I used my remaining hand to grab her wrists in an effort to break her grip. It was a fruitless attempt; she just constricted her hands tighter, her teeth bared and her face screwed up in concentration. My head felt heavy as she pressed her thumbs up against my windpipe and looked at me furiously, her eyes completely black with rage.

_Use your legs_! My brain screamed, but I couldn't comprehend what it meant. Legs…were attached to your body, right?

The rain was pounding down harder, drenching my hair and my clothes. Water droplets were running off Henrietta's oily scalp and down her face. She was concentrating so hard I could see her lips twitching as the water rolled over them, falling off her chin.

I was more scared now then I had been in a long time. This wasn't the first time I had been held by the throat, and, knowing my luck, it probably wouldn't be the last; however this _was_ the first time I was almost completely without options.

I was hoping beyond hope that someone was paying attention. That somebody was noticing what was happening, but it soon became apparent that nobody was.

Shutting my eyes in both pain and fear, I tried to focus on digging my nails into the pale skin of her wrists, to pry her hands off my neck. Numbness was trickling down my body just like the rain was…and then suddenly the pressure around my neck was released, and I fell to the ground. I opened my eyes to see several wardens clutching Henrietta's arms, trying to restrain her.

My thinking was sluggish, and I cradled my hand in my hands. A stabbing pain came from my right shoulder then, so I cradled that instead.

She was screaming, trying to rip her arms out of the doctor's grip. She locked her eyes with mine. "USE IT!" she cried, repeating it over and over. Water was flying off her hair as she shook her head furiously. "USE IT!"

"Are you okay?" Dr DeSilva loomed over me. Well, a very wet DeSilva, considering it was still thundering down heavily. I wasn't paying much attention to it anymore, though. I was more worried about my jugular and the attractive bruises that would be there tomorrow.

I massaged my neck with shaky hands. "Not like it hasn't happened before. I'll survive," I wheezed.

"This has happened before? When?"

"When I first came here. She's a little sensitive."

We both looked over at Henrietta, who was trying to bite their arms as they dragged her through the double doors. I could see a warden with a needle, trying to get a clear shot at her skin.

"Just a little," Dr DeSilva muttered, pushing wet hair out of his eyes and grabbing my arm. "Come on, we need to get inside."

Letting him pull me inside was a little unnerving, but I blame that on the fact he was the only person in this place game enough to touch me like a real person, not an animal that needed to be controlled. Maybe it was because he knew I wouldn't try and kill him for it. He led me to the first aid treatment area and began sorting through some cupboards. He hadn't been here long, and apparently it wasn't long enough to know where everything was.

"Bottom left," I said shakily, speaking for the first time we had come inside. Dr DeSilva opened up the door and found what he had been looking for: ice packs. "Um…" I stopped, not really sure how to say what I wanted to say. I really wanted to know where they were going to put Henrietta now, because the last time they hadn't bothered to do anything except sedate her and put her back in her cell…which had been just down the hall from my own. I had stayed awake all night just to make sure she wouldn't sneak in and finish the job in my sleep. I never wanted to feel that helpless again.

"You won't have to worry about Henrietta again for a little while," he answered my unspoken question, obviously knowing where my thoughts were. He walked over with an ice pack wrapped in a fabric sling and a cautious look in his eyes as he pointed to my neck.

I nodded and sat back. He sat on the chair opposite and went about putting the icepack around my neck. He had a very calming presence, and he smelt like soap underneath the general sanitary thoroughfare. His eyelashes were nicer than mine, I noticed, which just wasn't fair. I couldn't help but simply look at him, realising that if I had of been anywhere but here I would have been genuinely interested in this guy, thought he was handsome and intriguing and wanting to know his story. Instead all I could feel is a prickle of familiar feeling. Fear. Fear of Henrietta, fear of my own feelings.

"How did you know what I was thinking?"

He smiled easily. "Isn't it obvious? It's what _I_ would be thinking." He finished tying the knot so the sling sat securely against my neck, without pressure. I could feel the cold seeping through the cloth; it wasn't an entirely uncomfortable feeling. He then began work on my shoulder, placing my arm in a sling. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I looked up at him. He was genuinely concerned.

I opened my mouth to answer. I had no idea what I was going to say, but it turned out not to matter. There was a knock at the door and I looked over to see Davida standing there, clipboard in hand and eyes only for Dr DeSilva.

"Hi, Jesse," she said with what could only be classified as a flirtatious smile. I looked up to see how 'Jesse' would react, but if I was looking for any emotion, I was sadly disappointed.

"Miss Contas," he replied simply, without a thread of anything I could identify as happiness, sadness, anger or amusement. "Can you please take Susannah here and get her warmed up?"

Davida looked at me like I was a bug, like she couldn't think of anything worse to do. But, just as soon as it appeared, she morphed it into a winning smile. "Sure," she replied winningly, pushing her hands through her dark hair and setting her clipboard down on the bench.

I couldn't help myself. "Is there something in your eye? Eye drops may help."

Dr DeSilva—I couldn't bring myself just yet to think of him by his real name—coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like laughter. He quickly regained his composure, and stood, turning to me, all business. "Keep the ice pack of for at least an hour. Someone will come with a fresh one to apply again about half an hour later. Hopefully the bruising won't be too severe." With a nod to Davida, he left.

She watched him leave for a few moments, and then glared at me. "Nice. What's your problem?"

"Nothing in particular, just next time you partake in some kind of backwards peacocking, please make sure I'm not in the room. It's shameful."

"Showers. Now," she snapped in response, grabbing her clipboard and slapping it against her palm in what she thought was an intimidating manner.

Like anybody who wore Prada on their feet in their spare time could ever be intimidating.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

**APRIL 2007**

"So, where are you going now?"

I felt an arm sling around my shoulders and looked over to see Paul walking casually next to me, sunglasses on and his ever present smirk stretched across his face. Although he could pull it off, he really needed to shave.

"Where do you think? I'm going to my car, and driving home. Everybody's doing it," I replied sarcastically.

He slowed the pace by tensing his arm. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

"The task force, babe. Is it all you've ever wanted?"

I had never had more fun in my life, but I wasn't about to tell him that. I ducked out from under his arm and leant up against the car, searching for the keys in my bag. "It was fine. What I expected. You want me to kiss your shoes or something now, in thanks? Is that it?"

He had that look I knew well, and I knew what he was going to say before he said it. I gave him a warning look, which he ignored. He leant in a little.

"You could kiss something other than my shoes, I wouldn't mind."

Ignoring his words, I said, "Give my greetings to your girlfriend, Maria," and sat in the car, slamming the door.

"Marcia," he mouthed through the rolled-up window.

I started the engine. Clutching the steering wheel with one hand, I waggled my fingers at him and sped away.

Dominic was late, this time. The place we had chosen to meet at was a cute Japanese restaurant, and they had some tables outside lining the side of the street. I chose one of these and settled in, ordering something to drink and perusing the menu.

I was just starting to seriously consider calling Dominic when I saw him walking down the road towards me. He looked a little agitated, if the expression on his face was anything to go by. He kept rubbing the top of his head. He smiled when he saw me sitting there, and I raised a little to kiss him on the cheek when he arrived.

"How are you?" he asked as he sat down. He grabbed the menu from in front of me.

I smiled. "I'm good." If I had of had a normal job, I would have been able to tell him about my day. But my job wasn't normal. Besides, of all the conversations we've ever had, work very rarely came up. He didn't seem to be a big fan of his job, because he never seemed to mention it. "Bad day?"

He was rubbing his hand over his mouth, and he glanced at me over the top of the menu. "That obvious?"

"Immensely."

He sighed and leant back in his chair, his hands going to the top of his head. He always kept his hair cut really short so he didn't have to mess with it. Unlike Paul, he didn't really care about the way he looked much, and he only looked in the mirror in the morning to shave and make sure there wasn't any toothpaste around his mouth.

"It's nothing really big; I just have a company being difficult." Dominic was a contractor, the middle man that made things happen.

"Will everything be okay?"

Dominic just nodded, and flagged down the waiter.

We had met each other at this particular restaurant, both victims of friends that never show up on time. We'd been waiting for tables, and started talking to pass the time. He'd left with my number; something about him had drawn me to him. He was so assured of who he was but didn't have the overpowering arrogance that came with it like Paul did. We'd been dating casually for about two months, and it was comfortable. But I was comfortable with comfortable, at least for now.

Though I had to admit, ever since I'd gotten my new job topics of conversation had been harder and harder to come by.

Dominic was debating with the waiter over one of the specials when my phone rang. It was Paul.

I saw Dominic's eyes dart down to my phone and he finished with the waiter, screwing up his face.

"What does he want?"

I bit my lip and shrugged. "I have no idea, I won't be a moment."

He looked like he was about to object but I stood up, taking the phone with me and walking to the corner.

"What's up?" I said once I'd answered.

Paul sounded like he was shuffling papers around. "Just giving you a heads up, we'll have a new case soon."

I toed a pebble on the pavement with one of my heels. "You had to call me now just to tell me that?"

"It's huge. Like I said, just giving you the heads up."

"Erm. Thanks." I hung up, feeling like I had just wasted two minutes of my life. I returned to the table. Dominic looked even more annoyed than he had a few moments ago.

"What's wrong?" I asked, even though "what's up your ass?" would have been more suitable for this occasion.

"It's like he knows you are with me or something. Shit."

I frowned and put my phone back in my bag. "Calm down, Dom. It was just about work."

He was fiddling with the cutlery in front of him, not making eye contact. "He just always seems to interrupt us."

I was about to object, then I thought about it. Dominic was right—the last three times I had been with him, Paul had called during every single one of them. I hadn't paid it any mind, but obviously Dominic had.

"Look-" the waiter then arrived, and set our drinks down. I kept silent until she left, then continued. "Paul has always been a part of my life. He's a giant pain in my ass, but we work together now so I can't really avoid him."

"I just don't like him." The one time Dominic and Paul had met, it had gone about as well as all my previous boyfriends had gone meeting Paul.

Not very well at all.

"Not too many people do."

"You do."

I took a sip of my drink and gave Dominic a yeah-yeah-right look. "Not really."

Dominic raised his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes.

"Like I said, I grew up with him. I've developed a resistance to him, just like Egyptians do with the Nile when they drink it from birth. Or something. Anyway, why are we talking about Paul?"

He shrugged. I tried to change the subject, but Dominic's mood had been broken, and the rest of our dinner was stilted. We were just about to order dessert when my phone rang again.

"Oh, just answer it," Dominic said, sounding like a petulant child.

So I did.

"Susannah Simon?" came a crisp voice I didn't fully recognise from the other end.

"Yes?"

"We need you to come in."

I frowned. "Pardon?"

There was a frosty silence. "Miss Simon, part of your agreement to join this task force was to be available at all times. I trust you remember."

Ah. Nicola. I should have known.

"I'll be right there," I settled for saying, just so I could escape her wrath. I hadn't seen her smile once since I had started at the task force.

Having to leave only pissed Dominic off even more. I didn't know what to do to make the situation better, so I simply left.

"Ah, Miss Simon, glad you could join us," Nicola said stiffly as I settled into place. I looked around at the faces of every other person in my sector of the force. I gulped. "Next time I call you, make sure you don't take thirty minutes to show up."

I wanted a hole to just open up beneath me, but it didn't happen, so I took out my laptop and pretended to look interested at the blank screen.

"Earlier this afternoon," Derek announced, as Nicola sat down, "we were given a new case the police have hit a dead end on: the brutal murder of Amelia Watkins, discovered decapitated in a field on the outskirts of the city." I frowned, a memory tickling the back of my mind. Amelia Watkins. That name meant something to me. "Sixteen, red hair, blue eyes, five foot six…and lived on a farm, if this report is anything to go by."

Suddenly it clicked. "This case is only two months old."

Derek raised his eyes. "You know this woman?" he asked. I shook my head.

"No. I wrote this report. The police were following a lead at the time."

Derek shook his head, and gestured to Nicola to pass around the folders sitting in front of her. "Dead end, literally. The only person they could connect as a suspect had already been declared dead for four months."

Tony, who had been sitting quietly next to Derek, took over. "It's our turn. The police have run out of leads, but we haven't exercised all our avenues. See if you can discover something they may have overlooked—we want to crack this as soon as possible."

I could feel Paul's eyes on me from across the table. He had his eyebrow raised, and was looking at me expectantly. Obviously this was the case he called me about…but why had he?

It became apparent I wasn't going to find out that night, either. He took off as soon as the meeting was over, before most of us had even left the building.

"That's it?" I exclaimed to Vicki as we walked into the car park for the second time that day. "That's what they called us in so late to tell us? They couldn't wait a night?"

"That's how things are done around here," she answered, as if she could think of nothing better to do with her time than spend it at work after hours. "They prefer to get to the bottom of things straight away. Anyway, I'm going back to my _Charmed_ marathon. What about you?"

_Salvage my current relationship_. "Probably sleep."

But by the time I got home, I wasn't in the mood for salvaging or sleeping. I was strangely energised. I sat on the couch and searched Amelia Watkins through the news database, trying to come up with information I could actually use, like articles or police reports. The results I did come up with, like fan pages for some American actress, or multi-million dollar heiress didn't help much, but I wasn't swayed. There were still plenty of other options for a person like me.

A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. It meant something else entirely.

Paul had always been the one who had been able to manipulate ghosts. He'd call for them, and they would appear. Infuriatingly, they very rarely did the same for me.

I gauged my chances and called her name. Ninety percent of the time, victims of a murder hung around in this dimension, waiting for 'judgement day', or so they say. Was Amelia one of them?

I was given my answer when, a few seconds later, a short red head appeared behind me, next to the couch.

She narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"

I smiled politely. "Hi. My name is Suze, and I need your help."


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

**APRIL 2007**

"You need my help?" Amelia looked surprised. "That's different."

She moved to sit on the couch, not disturbing the laptop lying there, but instead fell through it. She kind of looked the way a child would if a scoop of their ice cream had slipped off their cone and splattered onto the pavement.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

She shrugged. "You're just polite, that's all. The other guy just tried pumping me for info. I mean, do I look like Wikipedia?"

"Other guy—not Paul, by any chance?"

Amelia looked thoughtful. "He didn't give me his name, but if you're referring to the insanely hot yet insanely arrogant guy with brown hair and blue eyes…yeah. Good value."

"That's Paul."

"Anyway," Amelia stood up again, "what do I need to do?"

I bit my lip. "I need some details about your death."

She didn't really seem to be listening to me, though. Instead, she was looking through my DVD collection up against the wall. She was alternating between gasping in admiration and snorting in disgust. She pointed to one of the titles, unable to pick it up, and went, "Seriously? I can't believe you paid money for this. You're just begging to be ripped off."

"You're only sixteen. Lose the cynicism." Her face fell, and I instantly felt bad. "Sorry. Look," I started, breathing slowly and trying to word my request diplomatically. "I'm investigating your murder. I was wondering if you would be able to help me find out who is responsible. Do you have any details that might help me?"

She shrugged. "Not really. I was blindfolded nearly the entire time, until…well. You know what happens when crazy people get their hands on axes."

I nodded. "Do you remember anything distinct about the person?"

Amelia screwed her face up in thought. "Um…he did have a cross tattooed on his right bicep."

"His right bicep," I repeated weakly. Suddenly, this didn't seem like such a smart idea. I'll go into work tomorrow, and tell them my strategy is to get everyone to take their shirts off. That would go down _real_ well, that would.

"No wait," she cried, bringing me out of my thoughts, "I _think_ it was his right bicep."

"First he did, now you _think_ he did."

She nodded. "Well, it's a little hard to tell, isn't it?"

"Not really."

"No, I mean," she sounded fed up, like _I_ was the one confusing her, "it all depends whether he was facing me or not. Otherwise it may have been his left."

I had stood the moment she'd appeared in my lounge room. Now I sat down on the couch, stifling a groan. "There are certain, uh, indicators that he's facing you, you know. The chest region?"

She rolled her eyes. "I only saw the tattoo through the gap in the blindfold. I didn't see anything else. What else do you want from me?"

I took a deep breath. "Okay then. Is there anything else worth knowing that you noticed?"

Amelia began to shake her head, and then quickly stopped herself. "There was an inscription on the cross."

"Let me guess, it said 'mom'?"

"No. It said 'Dulce Decorum' or some crap."

I blinked. Once. Twice.

"Do you even know what that means?" I asked.

She shrugged, her eyes going back to my DVD collection. "No, it's some weird French. Should I?"

I grabbed my laptop, typed in a few words, and turned the screen around to face her.

"It's 'Dulce et Decorum Est', a Latin term meaning it's noble to die for your country. I'm guessing you haven't taken basic poetry yet?"

"If I did, I didn't pay attention. I just thought it said something like 'I love God' or whatever."

I shook my head, placing the laptop on the coffee table. "So…who would have something like that carved on their arm?" I mused softly to myself. Amelia answered me anyway.

"Well, who dies for their country?"

"Soldiers," I muttered.

"Then wouldn't a soldier have that inscription on them? It sounds like it's what they believe in."

I snapped my fingers. It was a slim possibility…but it _was_ possible.

"Thanks for your help, Amelia. I'll let you know how I go."

She waved weakly, looking confused, and disappeared.

I rubbed my eyes brutally, tired beyond words. I still had no idea how Amelia could have been caught up in an axe murder, but I had a lead. I just hoped it was a good one.

Paul intercepted me the moment I walked into the office the next morning. He opened up one of the empty offices and pulled me behind him, then sat on the desk.

"I was thinking we should work as a team to solve this Amelia Watkins case."

I smirked. "Didn't have any luck with her last night?"

"How…never mind. So you spoke to her too?"

I leant against the door. "I did."

"And did she tell you anything? She was fucking tight lipped as they come with me."

"How did you ask her?"

"The usual way."

"As in, you offered her a one-way-ticket-to-Shadow land-or-else?"

He looked annoyed. I was enjoying my moment after a life of following his rules.

"Paul, when will you realise that threatening them will get you nothing?"

"It's always gotten the fucking job done before."

Actually, he looked kind of dejected. I always wondered what it would be like for the student to surpass the teacher, and it didn't look like it was a feeling Paul particularly liked. "So is this what it's going to be like, then? We're just going to compete against each other like two twelve year olds?"

I shook my head, feeling uncharacteristically serene around him. Probably because I was in control of the situation for once, instead of playing marionette to his schemes like I usually did. "No, it doesn't have to be like that. We used to work well as a team, until you started taking jobs from me."

"Hey," he said, looking righteous. "I thought you'd gotten over that. I got you the job afterwards."

"Principle, Paul. Principle. Anyway, Amelia gave me a lead. Did you want in?"

He was rubbing his jaw the way that guys always seem to when they're contemplating something. Finally he nodded. "I do. What did you get?"

"Her entire family have a solid alibi…except two. Her twin cousins, Luke and Amos, had been fighting in a peace war overseas when she had died. But both Paul and I looked into it, and Amos has been MIA for the past few months, and Luke was thought to have been abducted by abducted by an enemy camp. But we both feel that their disappearances should earn some attention."

"Very nice Miss Simon, Mr Slater," Derek said, a smile playing across his face. We sat down at the conference table, where the rest of the force had been sharing their new information for the past half an hour. Without a doubt, we were the only ones that had produced anything of worth.

"The information is rather…extraordinary. Want to tell us how you found it?" Nicola asked.

I kept my face straight, but Paul took over, a smirk on his face. "Don't ask, don't tell, right Miss Williams?"

She blushed.

We were excused, and told to follow up on the war twins.

"We're going to have to talk to Amelia again," I said to Paul as we left the board room. He nodded. For once, he didn't seem like he had anything to say.

"What's up?"

He shrugged, a dirty grin spreading across his face. "You looked sexy back in there. Care to talk to me like that later?"

"Oh get fucked, sweetie. Don't get all mushy on me now." I looked at my watch. "I'll be over in about an hour."

"We're done here. Why can't you come now?"

"I have somewhere to be now."

"Dominic?" Paul had always given me shit for my choice in guys, and I had never liked any of his girlfriends. It evened us out beautifully.

"No," I said, "even though it wouldn't be any of your business if I was. I'll see you in an hour."

Cee Cee had moved with Adam six months ago into a two bedroom apartment on the other side of town. She welcomed me through the door with a hug and a cup of coffee, her latest girl power CD playing at a high decibel.

"Come into my abooooooode," she cooed, moving over to the stove and stirring something. "I'm feeling particularly fancy today, so you're getting soup with Turkish bread. Feel free to fall over in excitement."

I sat on one of the stools behind the counter, sipping my coffee. She'd put whipped cream in it. I decided then and there Cee Cee was an angel in sweatpants and a messy bun. "What kind of soup?"

"Pumpkin with…" she grabbed a small bottle out of the spice rack and shook it. "Pepper corns. Oh yeah."

I was so hungry I would have eaten anything she put in front of me. I helped her toast the bread, and we sat down together.

"How's Adam?" I asked. The soup was surprisingly good, with the pepper giving it just the right amount of edge. The telltale soup cans in the trash told me that I owed my praise to Campbells for this culinary delight, unsurprising since I knew Cee Cee couldn't even boil water.

She smiled easily. "Good. Actually I had to talk to you about that." She pushed aside her empty bowl and looked at me. "I don't want you to be offended. We don't want to offend anybody. But with the way money is…"

"Oh, just tell me Cee."

"We're eloping."

My eyes went wide. "You're…eloping? _Eloping_ eloping?"

"_Eloping_ eloping," she confirmed. "Since Adam doesn't have his parents, and mine can't stand the sight of each other long enough to have a conversation, we thought it would just be easier. You know I've never wanted the big-deal big-wedding. I just want a cute dress and a cute husband." Her purple eyes were wide and earnest behind her fringe. "Please don't say you're disappointed."

I laughed. "Of course I'm not. I'm not surprised, to be honest. Can you at least tell me where you're going?"

Cee Cee shrugged. "No idea," she said around the bread in her mouth. "Adam said he wanted to organise it. Who am I to deny him the stress?"

"Indeed."

"I will let you know, when he does. But you have to promise me you won't tell my mother. Short of all planes being grounded for bad weather, I'll never keep her away. Actually, she'll probably just find an alternate route via boat."

"And my mother will be accompanying her." They had been friends for as long as Cee Cee and I had been friends, and were more similar in their tenacity than I liked to admit.

Cee Cee got up and started making me another coffee. "As much as I love talking about myself, it's your turn. How's life?" She emptied a packet of flavoured coffee into my cup.

I spun on the stool. "Life…is decent. My job is good."

"And how is Dominic?"

I bit my lip. "Not so good. Rough patch."

"Caused by?"

"Paul, naturally."

"You need to get a leash for that guy."

"Like a leash will rein him in."

"You two have the most retarded relationship ever," Cee Cee said, echoing the thoughts of many that I knew. She handed me the cup, now full again with hazelnut-flavoured goodness. "Just kill each other already."

"I wish I could, but it's still illegal."

"Well, that's inconvenient."

"It sure is," I agreed.

"So what's up with Dominic then? Jealous?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. I think it's more of a compatibility issue. I don't know."

She looked me in the eye. "You don't really like him, do you?"

I bit my lip and didn't say anything.

Cee Cee sighed. "You've never just settled for a guy before, so why are you now?"

"Dominic's nice," I insisted. "He's good to me."

"He's nice. I know a lot of nice guys. Do you want to rip his clothes off?"

It was probably too late to tell her that we hadn't even had sex yet.

"Sure I do."

"Well, I'm convinced. I think you already know how to handle _this_ situation."

I didn't really have time to dwell on the Dominic situation, as Cee Cee had put it, because half an hour later I was standing in Paul's living room, dealing with a very different one.

"I think I should talk to her alone. She didn't exactly take a shine to you."

He shook his head. "I say we tag team her."

"Because that always works," I replied, thinking back to a time in high school when it most certainly _had not_ worked.

I could tell Paul had just remembered that particular memory too, because he said, "Well, it usually works."

"I'll deal with her." I moved into the next room and concentrated, calling for Amelia. When I opened my eyes, Paul had followed me. Whatever.

I called again for Amelia. When she finally arrived she saw Paul before she saw me, and a suspicious look spread across her face. "What do you want?"

I walked around him and smiled. "Hey Amelia. I wanted to ask you a few more questions."

She looked at me, shooting Paul a wary look every few moments. "Did you find anything?"

I nodded. "Your cousins, Luke and Amos. What can you tell me about them?"

Amelia looked bewildered. "They're overseas. They have been for years."

"Are you sure?"

"Uh, yeah. Where else would they be?"

I gestured to Paul. "That's what we're trying to figure out, because we don't think they are." I proceeded to explain what I had figured out since we had last spoken. Amelia, who had been shaking her head in disbelief the entire time, finally interrupted me.

"That's ridiculous. They'd never kill me. We're family."

Paul spoke for the first time since we'd transcended. "So you've never done anything to them to aggravate them? You don't know anything? Haven't accidentally seen or heard something that they might want to keep secret?"

"No," she said, but she didn't sound as sure as she had a few moments before. We stared her down until she broke. "Well, I know Amos was involved in a hit and run when he visited us last year for Christmas."

"How did you find that out?" I asked.

"I was in the car with him. The police never found out who did it, but they were sniffing around a few months ago. I don't know why, they must have gotten new information or something. And so I sent Amos a letter just cryptically telling him what was happening. He never responded, and that's when we found out he was MIA…" she looked at us both in confusion. "So, what, you're saying that he killed me to shut me up? Is that it?"

"People have been killed for less," Paul said.

Amelia didn't look convinced. "The whole thing is ridiculous. It was just some random killer on the loose and I made the unfortunate decision to go walking late one night. Luke and Amos are heroes."

"With tattoos on their biceps?"

The look on her face confirmed my theory. She disappeared, leaving Paul and I alone with grim expressions.


	9. Chapter Eight

"_As I call into this dark and lonely passage, am I getting it through?  
Because all I want to do is get a message from me to you.  
The clock is running backwards, the roof is caving in.  
I can't see where I'm going, and I can't go where I've been."_

Evermore: "Can You Hear Me?"

**Chapter Eight**

**PRESENT TIME**

She made her first appearance at lunch. The new girl. Usually when someone new comes in, they're avoided, and they avoid everyone else in return. It's a fact. But instinct told me I should stay away from this woman. She made Henrietta look like an agreeable human being.

I was sitting at my table—without Henrietta sitting across from me, glaring at me, it was almost lonely—just minding my own business when a girl with straggly brown hair that I'd never seen before walked over and sat down right next to me.

"Can I help you?" I asked, taking a sip of water out of my paper cup with my left hand, my right arm still safely within a sling.

She moved a little closer. "I know you."

I shot her a sardonic sideways glance. "That's wonderful. And who are you?"

"You're the one who put my brother in jail," she replied, ignoring my question.

I felt like the sandwich I'd just finished eating was in serious danger of being tasted twice. "Say what?"

"You put my brother in jail," she said again, and grabbed the plastic spoon lying next to my empty plate.

I eyed the spoon, already knowing the answer to my question before I asked it. "And who is your brother?"

"Michael Hindler."

In a show of confidence that I didn't really feel, I smiled and stood up. "Well, it's been lovely to meet you, but I'm leaving now."

She was fast, faster then Henrietta. She grabbed my hair and dragged me backwards so I was sitting next to her again. She pressed the handle of the spoon to my cheek, right below my left eye. I didn't dare move.

"You destroyed my family," she hissed low, spitting on me a little.

I almost flinched, but the whiteness of the spoon was a reminder of what was possible if I moved. Instead I stared her down. "More like he destroyed mine."

She pressed the handle harder, and I felt the tip of it break the skin. See? Plastic spoons aren't so safe. "I'll make sure you pay. In…due…time," the handle pressed in harder with ever word, and then she dropped it to the floor and walked away as swiftly as she'd arrived. The wardens acting as security were in the corner, talking and thoroughly distracted.

Breathing heavily, I put my fingers to my cheek. Little red droplets stained the tips when I drew them away.

That night I couldn't sleep. Obviously the threat had something to do with it, but it was mostly the thoughts spinning in my head. As I was twirling my hair in my fingers absentmindedly, I heard the main lights being shut off. Most of the nurses had gone home by now, leaving the night staff.

Then I was struck with an idea.

Slipping soundlessly out of bed, I slowly moved to the door and opened it, peeking outside. The corridor was deserted. I shut the door behind me and tiptoed across the cold vinyl to the office down the hall a little.

I tried the doorknob. It was locked, naturally, but it didn't feel as secure as it should have. I tried it again, rattling the doorknob as loudly as I dared. Something gave way inside, and the doorknob fell off. I caught it before it fell to the floor, and then pushed the door open. I made a mental note to replace it before I left.

The office was stark and spacious, more for the storage of files and other equipment then public use. I slunk over to the filing cabinets in the back corner and tried them, but I wasn't so lucky this time. Surveying the keyhole and taking note of its design, I started rifling through the draws of the desk sitting next to it, making sure I didn't knock my sprained arm. The first drawer contained nothing I was interested in, unless I needed a pencil or post-it note.

On second thought…

I grabbed some of the post-its and one of the pencils, figuring they wouldn't miss them from the pile, pocketing them and continued through the next few until, in the fourth one down, I found what I was looking for.

It took a little while to find which key was the right one—and left handed, at that—but eventually I found one that fit perfectly and was able to pull open the first drawer. I surveyed its contents, folders with names on the tabs, in alphabetical order. I grabbed one at random and opened it up, knowing it was a supreme invasion of privacy but reading it anyway.

A head shot was the first thing I saw. Michelle. Stamped over the top of her details was a big red ugly stamp with an even uglier word on it—DECEASED. I returned it to where it was supposed to be, and grabbed another. This one was a folder for a patient called Annie Kilpatrick, who I had never seen before. Then I looked at her location: high security. The high security section of the hospital was located in the far back corner, where wards like mine and similar were located closer to the front. It didn't take a genius to figure out why. I had never been to the high security section, and I hoped to keep it that way.

Time passed as I went through folder after folder, until I finally reached mine. I bit my lip and opening it, finding a very unflattering picture of myself. I looked horrible. It wasn't the fact that I didn't have makeup on, or that my hair was hanging limply, or even that I wasn't smiling. My eyes looked haunted, dead inside my face, like there wasn't any vibrancy or intelligence behind them.

Underneath my photo were the usual details, and then copious notes on my mental health. My diagnosis read a bunch of crap about how I suffer from hallucinations and general confusion. I was classified as stable, but underneath 'sleeper threat' was written in bold, and underlined.

I frowned. For some reason, this bothered me more than my photo had. A sleeper threat. Surely they weren't expecting me to one day become a problem?

Returning my folder in disgust, I scolded myself for getting sidetracked and continued searching. I found what I was looking for towards the back—Henrietta's folder.

Ever since she had yelled at me in the courtyard, I'd been thinking about Henrietta and what she suffered from. Perhaps knowing what her diagnosis was would help in case I set her off again.

Her folder was thick, with number of photographs, all taken a few years apart. In the first one, taken seven years ago in June of 2004, she looked completely different to the Henrietta I now knew. Even though she looked unhappy, she was still incredibly attractive—one of those natural beauties that every girl just loves to hate. The next, taken about three years later, was different still. Her hair had lost its life, her skin was pale and sallow, and she had the pinched, unhealthy look of someone who was depressed and thin. Very similar to my own photo, I noticed with unhappiness. That had been around the time I'd first seen her. Then, the most recent, only taken a month ago, she looked even worse—the way I saw her everyday now.

I shook my head in sympathy as I looked at her details. She had been placed at Carmel Mental Health Hospital in 2004, the date of the first photo, and had been a patient ever since. What really shocked me was how her medical condition had degenerated over the course of seven years. In 2004 she had been suffering from hallucinations and general confusion, deemed stable but also noted as a possible 'sleeper threat'.

My current diagnosis, to the letter.

I shivered, and looked at later reports progressing over the years. Hallucinations were coupled with intense paranoia and attacks staged on patients and staff. The latest, which had only been written yesterday, classified her as a major threat, deemed 'unstable'. No doubt she was currently locked in the high security ward.

The folder contained more information and transcribed interviews, but what really struck me was a report published on the date of her admittance, and the first paragraph mentioned a few words that shook me.

'Claims to communicate with ghosts.'

Now, being able to do what I do, I have a degree of faith in the people that claim to be able to see the dead. From what I'd read, something told me that Henrietta, seven years ago, was not crazy. She was just as sane as I was. In fact, it looked very much like she had the same abilities that I did.

Unfortunately, and I knew this too well, being stuck in a place like this would drive any person crazy, especially if you had been trapped there for nearly a decade.

I had to get out of here.

I woke with a start the next morning, feeling cold all over. It took me a moment to realise what had been happening: I'd nearly transcended in my sleep. It had been a long, long time since I had done that.

Quite a few years ago, I had transcended in my sleep accidentally, entering the parallel realm of spirits. It was just an extra thing to add to the list of mediator-abilities that I was discovering, and I didn't like it in the slightest. It was different than shifting to Shadow land, the nether-world that spirits went to after death. Transcending was scarier. At least in Shadow land I couldn't see the body I had left behind. But when I transcended, it was as if I was a ghost too. Nobody could see me except other mediators.

When I first arrived, I'd transcend so I could walk through the hospital and snoop without being noticed. But just because the wardens couldn't see me didn't mean the ghosts couldn't. I was what they were, wandering a parallel universe, a dimension that blanketed the one that the living existed in. Deceased patients were just as disturbing dead as they were alive, so I stopped doing it. I couldn't help myself, let alone help them, so I didn't even try. At least if I didn't transcend I could ignore them if I saw them, and they were none the wiser.

I waited inside my cell until a nurse officially released me, and then I went to a grassy outside area and sat on one of the benches, the wind tossing my hair askew. The discovery that Henrietta was potentially like me had given me quite a lot of food for thought, and I had spent most of last night trying to figure out what I was going to do with my new information.

If I ever saw her again, should I try and talk to her? What had she been referring to when she told me to 'use it'? Did she somehow know about my ability? Did she somehow think it would help my situation?

I shuddered, even though it was fairly warm in the sun. One thing I hadn't been able to ignore is the fact that Henrietta so obviously suffered from a slow descent into madness. Would I eventually turn crazy too? Was it an inevitable situation I would find myself in if I didn't get out of here soon?

I returned to my cell soon after and reached right underneath the mattress. From there I retrieved Henrietta's file and flicked through it a little more. I hoped they wouldn't miss the file for a day while I took a little look.

There were at least fifteen pages of evaluations and reports. Every report dating further and further away from her admission grew worse. Her condition, as they referred to it, increased by two fold. Henrietta had seemed to succumb to the loneliness and monotonous environment a heck of a lot faster than I had, because it was only after the first year did her reports begin to go downhill. I'd been in here three years, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the same happened to me.

Maybe it already had. After all, mental institutions aren't built for people that are still in their right minds.

I soon got sick of dwelling on my own bad luck and left my cell, ensuring I tucked Henrietta's file safely away under my mattress again. I began walking down the halls, staring at my feet, not really sure of a direction, when I overheard an argument taking place in one of the offices. So I did what I did best.

I eavesdropped.

"You have to be rational. You've already done it once. Pulling another stunt like that anytime soon will only draw suspicion to your performance. It'll make me look bad, because I'm vouching for you."

There was no mistaking that voice. But instead of scaring me away, it drew me in with some kind of sick fascination.

There were at least two people in the room, because I heard another body move, a sound of frustration. "Oh, that's nice. So this is actually about you. It's always about you. Even before we married, it was always ABOUT YOU!" she shrieked.

The other person, a man, shushed her. "Please, keep it down. I don't feel like an audience."

I smiled. Too late.

"All I'm saying," Marcia said in a strained—but decidedly quieter—voice, "is that I want the new transfer—this Jesse DeSilva—gone. He's giving too much kindness to the patients, and they're starting to think they can get away with anything. He's too lenient. It's unprofessional."

I rolled my eyes. Respect was obviously something Marcia couldn't recognise, probably because she never gave it to anybody.

The man sighed. He was probably pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'll see what I can do, but without any solid reason, I'm afraid I won't be able to do anything. Maybe if you can dig something up, find a transgression, it might make it easier."

"Alright." I heard Marcia move. "Do you still have to go on that business trip? Los Angeles can wait. I don't want to cancel the reservation for our anniversary."

"I'm sorry babe, but it's compulsory. I'll make it up to you when I return, I promise."

I heard the couple embrace for a moment, and then his beeper sounded. "I have to go. You'll be okay until tonight?"

Marcia answered sulkily, and then they both walked out. I folded my arms and leant against the wall as they turned to corner, practically running into me.

His eyes widened, raked over me, and then went even wider, if that was possible. I saw something in his eyes I didn't recognise, a glint of something.

The moment lasted forever. The lock we had on each other's eyes seemed to take years to break. Because that's how long it had been since we done exactly that—looked each other right in the eye.

I stood up against he wall with one foot propped up, watching the retreating figure of Paul Slater for the first time in nearly four years.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

**MAY 2007**

Amelia was avoiding us, and it wasn't doing very good for solving the case. It had been a week since we'd last spoken to her, and any attempts to contact her again were met with silence.

"She's avoiding the truth," Paul said. I'd been thinking exactly the same thing.

We were sitting in his lounge room, sharing a laptop and trying to find any information we may have overlooked, but we weren't getting very far. I sunk back into the couch in defeat, revelling in how the material just seemed to envelope you in the way only expensive couches can.

Paul had inherited this house from his grandfather a few years ago, and had promptly moved out of parent's house and into this one. It didn't take a genius to figure out why, either—the house had been fully furnished in a tasteful way, all hues of stainless steel, black and navy blue—and it also stood at the top of a cliff, with a view that looked over the town and the sea that surrounded it. I'd only been here a handful of times though the years, but it was always enough to make my little townhouse seem inadequate in comparison.

He'd also moved house because his relationship with his parents wasn't a stellar one. After the death of his younger brother several years ago, his mother had fallen to pieces and sought solace in whatever distraction she could find, from gambling to socialising to paying tribute to the bottle. His father was always away travelling for work, and when he wasn't, he was in the company of other women that weren't his wife. It was a story you hear time and time again, but it was worse when it happened to a person you knew.

I don't think Paul had ever fully recovered from the death of his brother, and he had always distanced himself from the rest of his family for his own sanity. He'd grown up with an actress for a mother and a businessman for a father, so he had long ago perfected the ability to hide his emotions behind a passive mask. I wondered if he was happy.

Paul cleared his throat, slamming the laptop shut. "Nothing. Until we can get that girl to talk, we've got nothing to go on." He looked over his shoulder to see me vegetating and contributing little.

"What?" I said defensively. "You seemed to have it under control."

"Drink?" he asked instead. I nodded gratefully and followed him into the kitchen, where he grabbed two beers out of his completely pretentious fridge, and moved out onto the deck outside. The breeze was crisp but I appreciated it all the same. I sat down on one of the wooden chairs.

"That's my chair, Suze."

I shrugged, and opened up the bottle, tossing the cap over my shoulder in his general direction. "Don't care."

"I do. I always sit in that chair."

"Change is good, Paul. Embrace it."

Suddenly, I felt the bottle cap I'd thrown hit the back of my head. I cried out, more from the shock than any pain I had felt. "You're an asshole," I reminded him, in case he had forgotten.

He pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and moved another chair with his foot so he could rest his feet on it. "You wouldn't have me any other way," he replied, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, looking almost like he was preparing for an afternoon nap.

What Cee Cee had said was true: our relationship really was retarded.

All through our years of knowing each other we'd had an intense love/hate relationship, one of those things no one understood, least of all us. We used every opportunity we had to aggravate the other; competing against each other came naturally. Early childhood had meant stolen iceblocks and hair pulling whenever our mothers weren't looking. In the first few years of school, it was name calling, perhaps the occasional 'accidental' soccer ball to the face (for me) or groin (for him). High school was bra snapping and snide remarks, a backhand slap of an insult thinly disguised as a compliment.

But I'd also had a lot of moments with him, private moments that were memorable in their intensity and were over just as fast as they'd come. On my first ever day of school he had held my hand and walked me to the gate because I was so nervous. Then he'd dropped my hand as soon as we'd arrived, called me a 'baby' and quickly run off with the rest of his friends. When I was nine, he'd been my first kiss. We'd been outside, and he had been boasting about all the girls he had kissed. I'd told him I wouldn't kiss anybody until I was at least thirty, and he had done it deliberately to prove me wrong. He'd poured sand over my head afterwards, of course.

Then it was our second-last year of high school, and my first real heart break. Paul had just returned back to town with his parents after being gone for four years. One of the girls at school had hosted a party, and I had gone with my stepbrother Brad since I'd just been mercilessly dumped by my boyfriend Jeremy that morning. I'd been nursing my wounds just fine until Jeremy had shown up with another girl, parading her around in front of me. I'd spent the next hour hiding away, finally finding the only quiet place in a house party: the staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms. I had been sitting there, upset and just wanting to leave, and Paul had been walking down, fixing his belt, a girl he had obviously just slept with trailing along behind him. He took one look at me and stopped, letting Samara or whatever-her-name-was walk past.

"What happened?" he'd asked, and I hadn't wanted to tell him, and he gave me shit for being secretive until I did. His face had been neutral, his mouth in a hard line, as he reached into his back pocket, slapping some money in my hand and telling me to catch a cab home.

I hadn't, because I didn't want to be _that_ girl, the one who lets men dictate her night for her. So I'd stayed, drinking with one of my stepbrother's girlfriends, until I'd heard a crash outside followed by people rushing to a certain area, the telltale sign of a punch-up.

I found Paul pushing my ex-boyfriend's head into the pool. He'd held it there for so long Jeremy transferred to a different school the next day. And when I had run up to Paul, furious and confused and just a little bit flattered, he had simply shrugged, handed me another drink and said, "Sweetie, I'm the only one allowed to mind-fuck you."

Of course, the one that eclipsed it all—and the one thing I had never told Cee Cee—was my first time, the result of too much alcohol and a spontaneous decision to act on the heated looks we always gave each other when we thought the other wasn't looking. He'd kissed me like I'd meant the world to him, and then kicked me out of bed afterwards.

I hated him, I would say. And then I would love him for the brief moments we _were_, until we weren't any longer. And then I would hate him all over again.

And I didn't know what I was going to do about it. Working with him was bringing too much to the surface.

I had been sitting there in almost a meditative state, until I felt Paul's eyes on me. When I looked over, he looked as if he'd been looking at me for a long time. His gaze was so intense and blue, and there was something predatory in them. I wondered if he knew what I was thinking, and I seriously hoped he didn't.

Taking one last swig of my beer, I stood up. "Time for me to go. I'll keep trying with Amelia. It might just be because you're around that she's being difficult."

He stood up as well, but I kept moving towards my bag, not wanting to deal with Paul and those eyes that just seemed to _know_ me.

He knew it too, damn him.

"You looked like you were thinking mighty hard about something. Not me, by any chance?"

I grabbed my bag and opened it, double checking everything I needed was in there. It also meant I didn't have to look at him. "You're so full of yourself. I was thinking about Amelia."

"You see, I don't think you were. You have this certain expression on your face whenever you talk to me, and it was all over your face just then."

I turned and looked at him, aggravated at how well he could read me and not liking it at all.

"See?" he said with a fulfilled smile, "You're doing it right now."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

I dropped my bag and walked around him, grabbing another beer from the fridge. "Actually, I was thinking about how shitty this beer was, and how it would be a service to the community if I just did…this." I swiftly opened it, upending it over the sink.

It worked, and Paul moved to intercept me, completely disregarding our current conversation. What I had just done was immature as hell, but if there was one thing he prized more than his ego, it was his beer. He always imported that foreign stuff by the carton because he thought the others tasted like cardboard.

He looked at me with anger, but I cut him off. "Stop trying to mess with my head."

Paul placed the half empty bottle at a safe distance away from me. "Well, stop trying to mess with mine."

I rolled my eyes. "I am not, and you know it."

Paul gave a short, mocking laugh that sounded more angry and amused. "You think I haven't noticed the way you look at me?"

"Like I want to kill you?"

"Like you want to fuck me."

"_Fuck you over_, more like."

"Big words, Suze. How's Dominic going? Is he feeling inadequate yet?"

I couldn't help myself. I slapped him. The sound seemed to echo through the kitchen, and I don't know who was more shocked. "Don't talk about Dominic," I said shakily, my voice almost apologetic. I pushed away from the counter. "I'm leaving."

At least, that was the plan. Paul grabbed my shoulders and stopped me, pushing back into one of the cupboard doors. I glared at him. "Don't do this, Paul," I said. The last time he had propositioned me this way, I'd broken his nose.

He obviously didn't seem to care about that. Before I had time to process how close to me he was, his lips were on mine. I shuddered, and not in the way that I should have reacted. Because I hated this man, and he drove me bat-shit crazy, but I was kissing him back.

And then pushing him away, and slapping him again.

"Don't do that again," I warned.

"Fine," he said, like he hadn't even noticed the slap. He smiled like a smart ass and moved his head to my neck, his lips coming into contact with the skin just under my earlobe. The part of my neck that was the most sensitive, the part that my body responded to, and he knew where it was better than I did.

He was such a manipulative bastard, and in another situation I would have told him so. Instead I gasped, my hands going to his shoulders. I should have pushed him away, but instead I basked in the sublime sensation of his soft lips and his cheeks grazing my skin. I sagged against him, fully aware that he was seducing me and I was letting him. I felt like my reasoning was like words written in wet sand being washed away.

That's how it felt when Paul kissed you. You forget everything except for him and his solid presence. His arms went around my waist, pulling me closer, and I could feel his lips moving up the side of my chin. He then brushed them lightly against my own.

Paul locked his eyes with mine. I was trapped, not just physically, but mentally as well. They were such an intense blue that they hurt to look at, but at the same time I couldn't bring myself to pull away. They were entrancing, pulling me in.

I trembled and my hands rose to his cheeks, pulling his face towards my own. He was so familiar, so consuming, and it was always like this every time it had happened. We felt explosive together.

I guess we always were…which was precisely the problem.

I pulled away, catching my breath. "Let me go, Paul."

He didn't listen to me. He went for my lips again. I pulled back.

"Let me go. We shouldn't do this."

"So you say," Paul replied, breathing just as heavily as I was.

My look was a warning. "Let me go." I pushed at his shoulders. For a moment, I didn't think he was going to let me go, but then he took a step back. Without a word I grabbed my things and left, another beautiful moment gone just as quickly as it had come.

I was staring at the phone the same way I'd stare at a spider. I really didn't want to do what I was about to do, but I had to.

Knowing I couldn't put it off anymore, I keyed in the digits of his phone number. One ring. Two.

"Hello?"

I inhaled sharply, almost hanging up, but then regained my composure. I had to be mature about this.

"Dominic, hi, it's Suze. Um," I fiddled with the ends of my hair. "We have to talk. Can we meet somewhere?"

The brightness in his voice reduced dramatically. "Uh, how about the same place we went last week, in twenty minutes?"

"Sure." I hung up before I could make the situation worse.

I had not gotten it wrong on the phone when I noticed the change in tone. He looked…different. The last few times I had seen him he had been missing the vibrancy that had originally drew me to him, but today he was brooding in the corner, looking like he didn't want to be there.

That made two of us.

"Hi," I said softly, not wanting to startle him. He nodded at me and stared at the drink menu like his life depended on it. I sat down opposite and began playing with one of the bracelets on my wrist. "Dominic, I have something to tell you, and I don't want you to get mad, even though I know you have every right to."

"Just get on with it, Suze," he drawled, as if he already knew what I was going to say.

I sighed. "Something…happened, between Paul and me."

Dominic threw the menu down on the table in between us, one of his eyebrows raised aggressively. "I fucking knew there was something going on."

I winced. "No there isn't, I promise. It was a mistake."

But Dominic was shaking his head. "That's bullshit, and everyone knows it. So where does that put us?"

_Us_.

"I just don't think we're working out," I finally answered. It wasn't a good answer, but it was all I had. It didn't satisfy Dominic in the least.

He stood up, rubbing his hand on the back of his head. "Here's an idea for you to ponder: how about you do the rest of the world a favour and figure out where the fuck you stand with Paul before you go and drag some other unsuspecting guy into it."

He left without saying goodbye, not that I'd expected him to.

I felt sick. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the waitress making her way over to my table, so I made a dash for the door before she reached me.

In a world of winners and losers, I most definitely fit the latter category.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

**PRESENT TIME**

Seeing Paul for the first time in so long had caused me to forget about Michael's sister and the threats she'd made against me.

Too bad the same couldn't be made for her—she sure as hell hadn't forgotten about me.

I was hit from behind. In my defence, I never saw it coming. But, be rest assured, to be sent sprawling across the vinyl floor is an incredibly effective wake-up call. My head smacked against the floor and my vision blurred. Clutching the back of my head, I groaned in pain and rolled over to see who had so cowardly decided that sneaking up on me was a good thing.

Michael's sister stood over me, clutching a lead paperweight in her hand, a triumphant smile adorning her face.

"What the hell?" I tried to stand up. "I-"

She swung the weight down again, and it collided with my cheek. It was like being hit with a pipe.

I moaned, cradling my jaw in my hands, spitting out the blood that was filling up in my mouth. It splattered onto the cold floor. I tried to stand up again just as she swung again. The difference was, this time I was ready for it. I caught her wrist as I stood up straight. There was a moment where we stared into each other's eyes. She looked so cold and calculating, and so similar to Michael's that I froze for a moment, unable to move. Sensing my distraction, she struggled out of my grip, trying to free the paperweight for another swing. I held on tight to that hand—as much as my shoulder ached, I wasn't going to let it go so she could knock out my teeth.

Unless she made me.

Quick as anything, she bent down and sunk her teeth into my arm, on the side of my elbow.

I hollered in pain and hit her squarely in the face with my left fist. She shrieked, stumbling back and holding her nose, her eyes full of murder. Then she proceeded to return the favour.

As the sister of a psychopath, I should have known she would have a killer right hook.

I spun, smashing face-first into the wall behind me, smearing my blood along. I was too angry and in too much pain to care, and turned, lunging at her. We collapsed on the floor. I straddled her and gave her another punch, before trying to pry her fingers out of my hair—which she had so lovingly snatched up by the fistful—before she could use it to smash my face into the floor beside her.

The whole time, I wondered why nobody was noticing that an attempted homicide was taking place in their backyard. If the security cameras were recording, no one was watching them. Or perhaps they were waiting to see if anyone survived before intervening. Less work for them, that way.

Then, with a massive elbow to her temple, it was all over.

My adrenalin was pumping through my body so fast that it took a few seconds to realise that the hand tangled in my hair wasn't moving. I pulled it away and scrambled onto my feet, looking down in shock at her limp body.

"This is not good," I muttered to myself. Looking down at her, she looked a sexy shade of…

Well, dead.

I bent down, feeling for a pulse on her neck. It was thrumming normally. I sighed in relief.

My relief was short lived, however, when Marcia bustled down the corridor, scribbling furiously into her clipboard. She took one look at me bending over a seemingly-dead looking patient, the blood on the floor and wall, and…

Marcia screamed, just like they do in the horror movies. Long and bloodcurdling, no doubt drawing the attention of every warden in the hospital.

I stood up with my palms outward. "She's fine, she's just unconscious," but the closer I got the louder she screamed.

Holding her clipboard in front of her like a shield, she shrieked, "GET AWAY FROM ME!"

I turned to walk down the hall.

"DON'T YOU GO ANYWHERE!"

I spun on my heel, cradling my shoulder, not sure what I should do. Marcia was still screaming, her shrill voice echoing off the walls. "WILL SOMEBODY FUCKING COME AND HELP ME!"

For a second I thought she was being melodramatic, but then I looked down at Michael's sister. It looked bad from anyone else's point of view. But they would figure out soon that I had only been defending myself, considering the majority of the blood belonged to me.

Hopefully.

Finally there was a commotion as not one but five doctors came pelting around the corner, followed by Davida and another nurse I didn't know, and a few security guards.

The guards took one look at the body next to my feet and rushed over, yelling, "Stay where you are!" like I was about to run away.

I felt a sharp, splintering pain in my neck then. I turned my head enough to see a syringe sticking out of my skin, held by one of the doctors. I was unconscious before I hit the floor.

I opened my eyes and winced at the glare of the overhead fluorescent light.

Hold on…

I slipped off the bed, my body aching all over. But I was more concerned with something else.

This wasn't my cell.

I turned in a full circle. The walls were plain concrete, save for one, which was half covered with a mirror. I wasn't stupid; I knew what it was. Someone was probably sitting behind it and drinking coffee. My first thought was that I was in one of the padded rooms, but it wasn't white and secure.

The only access into the room was a massive door opposite my bed. I could just see the outline of it; there was no handle, or visible lock of any kind.

"Hello?" I called out, just in case someone was listening. I didn't receive an answer, but to be honest I knew I wouldn't. I sat back down, staring at the mirror-glass, wondering what they were waiting for. Eventually, I nodded off against the wall. I was jerked awake soon after.

"Miss?"

I blinked against the harshness of the light once more, and Dr DeSilva's head swam into focus.

"Miss, can you hear me?"

I lethargically nodded, putting my head in my hands. It felt like it was filled with some heavy glue-like substance.

Slowly, he put his hands forward similar to the way I had done so with Marcia. "May I check on your wounds?" he asked. I shrugged. Gently he lifted my chin up a little with the back of his hand, tilted my head side to side, and then asked me to open my mouth a little. I did so begrudgingly, prepared to snap it shut in case he felt like sticking pieces of wood on my tongue and caressing my gag reflex the way doctors liked to do.

He surveyed the inside of my cheek, squinting, and took a few notes on his clipboard. After the hits I had taken from Michael's sister, I imagined there was probably a large cut on the inside of my mouth. I had been tasting blood since I'd woken. Dr DeSilva then shone an annoying pen-light in my eyes, and checked the rest of my face and neck for any trauma.

"What's this?" he asked out of the blue a few moments later.

"Huh?" I replied intelligently.

He ran his finger just underneath my eye, where that plastic spoon had taken residence a day ago. I shivered.

"Oh, that. Michael's sister hates me."

He raised an eyebrow, and for the first time I noticed that he had a stark white scar running from the centre of his forehead, down to his right eyebrow. The scar had almost cut his eyebrow in half, kind of like if someone had drawn a chalk line over his skin; it was more obvious in the harsh light. I wondered how he had gotten it.

"This didn't happen today, though?" he asked neutrally. I shook my head.

I looked around. "Where am I, exactly?"

"Cell 5A in the high security ward."

My stomach sank. So I _was_ in the high security ward.

Dr DeSilva must have noticed the despaired look on my face, because he said reassuringly, "It's one of the recovery wards. This won't be permanent." I eyed the mirror. He cleared his throat again to catch my attention. "As well as the check up, I came in here to tell you that you have a visitor."

Twice in six months? God, I'm popular.

I followed him out of the room, still feeling a little unsteady on my feet. We emerged into an empty hall, with large brown doors in the walls and security devices next to them. Unlike in my ward, I doubt this fortress let their patients go for a midnight wander.

I followed Dr DeSilva through several sets of doors, until things started to look familiar again. He led me outside, onto the visitors' courtyard. Wardens patrolled the outskirts, and there were several sets of chairs and tables in the middle. The slight breeze tossed my hair in my eyes, and when I pushed my fringe away I saw who was waiting for me. I stopped.

"Actually…I don't want to see him."

Dr DeSilva smiled sympathetically. "I'm afraid he insisted, Miss Simon." He motioned over to the nearest corner, near the wire fence. "I'll be just over here if you need me."

I sighed and shuffled miserably over to the table where Paul sat. He had his game-face on.

I sat gingerly onto the seat opposite, my body aching in protest to the movement. We waited in silence for a few seconds, and then Paul spoke in a low voice.

"My god, Suze…"

I glared at him. I had so much I wanted to say, and yet I wouldn't be able to say enough. So I stayed silent for now.

"Are you okay?"

My vow of silence broke. "Hardly," I snapped. "What are you doing here?"

"I just meant…you look hurt. Are they treating you okay in here?" he asked carefully, neatly sidestepping my question.

I grit my teeth. "I don't look so good, do I? I feel fine. Why wouldn't I be, I'm only in a _fucking mental institution_."

Paul shushed me, glancing pointedly at Dr DeSilva. I waved my hand. "He's fine. He's my…evaluation guy."

"You just…you have bruises, all over your fac-"

"Why are you here, Paul?"

"To see how you're doing," he replied like it was obvious.

I stared him down for a moment, and then pointed to the door. "Out."

He looked stunned. "What?"

I pointed again, even more agitated. "Out!"

"Why?"

"Why?" I asked, anger clipping my words. "Because you have the nerve to visit me like I haven't even been in here a DAY. It's been _four years_, Paul."

He nodded, looking passive. "I know, Suze. It feels like forever for me, too-"

A sharp crack cut off his words, and his hand went to his cheek where a red handprint now sat. It wasn't the first time I'd ever slapped him, but it definitely was the hardest.

"I hate you," I said to him, as guards rushed up and grabbed me by the arms, pulling me back towards the building. I let them carry me without resistance, looking over my shoulder and glaring at Paul, who was just standing there, blinking stupidly.

Dr DeSilva moved from his leaning position against the fence and came over quickly, telling the guards to let me go. I hoped they would, because their nails were piercing my skin.

"She's not resisting," he said quietly to one man who had insisted on carting me back to my cell. "And I haven't finished my consultation with her. Please."

I could tell the guards didn't want to let me free—it was probably how they got their kicks, dragging patients around—but the one Dr DeSilva had spoken to nodded to the others, and they moved back to the fence, resuming their positions.

Dr DeSilva gestured over to the table we had just been sitting at. Paul was nowhere to be seen, and for that I was glad. I sat down carefully, crossing my arms self-consciously.

"You said you wanted to talk?" I asked, after looking at him for nearly a minute with an expectant expression.

He opened his clipboard. "Tell me about the other day."

"The other day?"

"The attack Sam Hindler staged on you."

It took me a moment to realise that was the name of Michael's sister. Sam. Common name, not so common personality.

"What do you want to know, Dr DeSilva?"

"Please, call me Jesse. That doctor-business does my head in," he said with a wry smile.

I was thrown off by his normalcy. "Uh, well…I guess Sam has it in for me."

Jesse nodded. "That, Miss Simon, is obvious."

"It's Suze."

He glanced down at the clipboard. "Susannah."

"I prefer Suze."

"I've always thought that Suze sounded harsh, abrupt. Vulgar. You may be some things, but you're not vulgar."

I laughed, despite myself. "I sent her brother to jail," I told him. "She hates me for that reason. And now I can spend the rest of my life fearing plastic spoons."

Of all the answers I could have given him, he clearly hadn't expected that. "What?"

"Yeah, I know. I mean, you can't go anywhere without seeing spoons. It's going to be a long, hard road." I laughed again at the peevish expression on his face. "I'm kidding." I cradled my arm closer to my body. "Yes, I testified against her brother in court. And now he won't hurt anyone else."

He looked right at me in that way of his, so steady and supportive. "You once told me a little about what happened to you before you came here-"

Came here. Like there had been any choice.

"-may I ask you to continue, please?"

I frowned, snatching the clipboard off him. A quick scan confirmed my suspicions. "Why are you asking me this? It isn't protocol."

Jesse actually looked a little sheepish. "I would like to know what happened."

"Why?"

He didn't answer me for a few moments, so I took it in my stride. "Look, you shouldn't be asking questions that you're not supposed to. You can't afford it."

Jesse looked surprised, and cocked his head sideways in interest. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Marcia is trying to get you kicked out of here," I warned him. The expression on his face became unreadable. "If you don't watch it, she'll…her husband has ways. They got rid of Cassandra."

He nodded. I couldn't tell if he was actually taking what I was saying seriously. "Her husband is the man you were talking to before. You knew him well?"

I nodded, not happy with the turn of conversation. "Yes, I did. We were…colleagues. But I've known him nearly my whole life."

"And you were involved, yes?"

I was stunned. "Wha-"

"Your voice changes," he said easily. "And…" he trailed off. I looked at him expectantly.

"Yes?"

"Never mind."

I shook my head, eager to stop the conversation there. "So, is this the part where you escort me back to my cell, just in case I go crazy and kill someone?"

He motioned for me to follow him. "I do not believe you're going to kill anyone, Susannah," he muttered as we strolled down the cold, empty hallways that only seemed to get darker the closer we moved to the high security area of the hospital.

"Finally, something we can agree on," I said. We stopped as he keyed in the password. The door opened and, without a word I shuffled inside, my eyes adjusting to the harsh glare of the light once more.

I moved to the bed, shoved my head deep into the pillow, and sobbed for all it was worth.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

**MAY 2007**

"Luke…where are you?" I muttered as I scrolled down the page. Despite all of the task force connections, I'd underestimated how hard it would be to find soldiers fighting in a peace war. I wasn't having any more luck then when Paul and I had worked together.

I hadn't seen Paul since I'd broken up with Dominic last week. He'd attempted to call me a few times over the weekend, but I'd ignored every call. I was more confused than ever about where we stood. It shouldn't have been a big deal; we'd kissed before, more than I wanted to admit. Heck, we'd done more than kiss more times than I wanted to admit. It had always been just another round of the never-ending competition between us.

This time had been different, somehow.

I threw my hair up into a bun on top of my head and sighed in frustration, falling backwards. I was going to find Amelia if it was the last thing I did. I wanted this case over with.

I was just about to call for her when I heard a knock at the front door. I considered ignoring it—after all, I could have been asleep, or something—but decided against it, just in case it was important.

When I opened it, my first thought was that I should have just ignored it after all. It was Paul, hands in his pockets, eyebrows raised in way that was half anxious, half arrogant. I sighed, and leant against the door.

"You realise when a person doesn't answer their phone, they're ignoring you," I said to him.

He nodded, running his hand through his hair. It had the kind of unruly look to it that meant it needed to be cut months ago, but he still somehow made it look good. "I realised that. I wanted to talk to you." He pushed past me over the threshold.

"I didn't say you could come in."

"Too late," he replied. I shut the front door reluctantly and gestured to the couch for him to sit. He did, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. "I've been thinking about what happened the other day."

"Paul-"

"No, hear me out. I was thinking we should give us," he gestured between us, "_this_, a shot."

I sank down on the couch opposite, feeling like I'd just had water thrown over my head. "What? You're doing weed again, aren't you?"

"It's not college anymore Suze. I'm serious. We'd be good together. Tell me honestly that you haven't thought the same."

"I haven't thought the same."

"Then you're a fucking liar, because if I've considered it, I know you have too."

I shook my head and leaned back, unable to believe I was having this conversation with Paul Slater. "What if I haven't? Besides, you drive me nuts. Why would I want to put up with that more than I have to?"

He grinned.

"Everyone is waiting for the day we kill each other."

"Everybody else only sees the bad things. We have good times, too."

I blushed despite myself. "That's not enough."

Paul nodded. "That's what got me thinking about us. When I found out that Dominic had dumped you-"

"Hey! I dumped him. Details, Paul."

"-I was happy. I know we're both a fucked-up example of friendship, but friendship shouldn't be like that. I should have been sad for you, I suppose. But I wasn't. I realised I never had been. I was always happier when I was the only one driving you crazy. I want to be the only one." Our eyes locked. He looked sincere. I had never seen him look so sincere.

It sounds ridiculous, but the only thing I could think was—since when did Paul have feelings? Of course, I knew he had some. I'd see flashes of it from time to time: the day his brother had died and I had let him sleep in my bed because he hadn't wanted to go home, the secrets he sometimes told me late at night after we'd had too much to drink, the looks he sometimes gave me that I ignored, because I didn't ever want to read into them, I'd never wanted to go there, because I knew, in the end, it was just another competition.

But there didn't seem to be a competition this time round. I knew if I completely disregarded what he was saying now, things would go back to the usual by tomorrow. But for the first time, there was a possibility sitting in front of me that I had never let myself acknowledge.

"What about Marcia?"

"It's over."

I bit my lip and looked at my lap. The fact is, Paul had always been the perfect punching bag, because I knew no matter how hard I hit him, he would always return the favour. It was a crazy arrangement we'd had, but I'd come to rely on it. There is something so freeing about somebody who will never be available to you; I'd never had to censure my behaviour around him, and he'd always taken me as I was.

Did I want to jeopardise that?

He came to sit next to me. "Suze?"

I knew if I looked up I'd have to give him an answer, so I didn't. I had to think about this. I didn't _want_ to think about this.

He didn't let me decide. His hand turned my head towards him, and he kissed me, hard. Like it always did, my skin flared and my heart sped up. I sighed and kissed him back, not entirely sure I even wanted to, but doing it all the same.

Then, without warning, Paul pulled away and stood up. "Just think about it, Suze. If the idea is so ridiculous to you, just pretend this never happened."

My skin and lips tingled from his touch, and I jumped as the door slammed shut. My head was swirling with so many thoughts, so many scenarios. As the seconds ticked by, I realised something that his sudden departure had told me: it wasn't the fact I didn't want to ruin our relationship that was holding me back. We'd already gone way past that a long time ago. What stopped me was that it was _Paul_. Paul, who knew me better than I did, who knew what I was thinking and who knew what I had been through. He knew how to push my buttons in every way, and I'd never had to hide any part of myself from him. No one else had that kind of power over me in my life, and it terrified me to think that Paul did.

I was scared.

I was scared because, with Paul, I knew I wasn't settling.

It was so easy to settle.

I shut my eyes for a second, made a snap decision, then darted off the couch and opened the door. Paul had already walked down the street and was getting in his black car. I made my way down to the base of the street and towards his car. He didn't see me until I knocked on his car window.

He didn't look as surprised as he should have, the arrogant bastard. But I didn't care so much anymore.

I took a deep breath as the window came down. "I don't think the idea is ridiculous at all. That's the problem."

_I_ kissed him this time, proving that there is a first for everything.

"Well, fuck me dead," was Cee Cee's eloquent response to the information that Paul and I were officially dating. I'd waited a few days to tell her, not sure how to break the news. She had been stirring her coffee for the past minute without stopping. "You always said you hated him, and yet…"

"What is it that line that Adam used when he asked you out the first time? You said that there is nothing you'd hate more, and he said-"

"-But my dearest Cee Cee, there is such a fine line between love and hate," Cee Cee finished, looking sheepish. "So you love him, is that it?"

I recoiled. "Whoa, hold on. No, I don't. I think we both figured we just owed it to ourselves to see where we could take things."

Cee Cee laughed, shaking her head in wonder. "I always knew there was that weird tension between the two of you, like you were one second from getting into bed with each other and seeing who would come out alive at the end of it. Speaking of which," she waggled her eyebrows, "have you?"

I bit my lip.

"You have!"

"Um. I actually have something to tell you. Do you remember senior year, the night we discovered that gin and juice really _did_ taste good together?"

"You mean the night I hooked up with Ryan and he tore my black dress clean in half and I stitched it up with wool from a blanket?"

I nodded. "Yeah. That night. Well, after you left and I stayed, I kept drinking with Paul, and…"

Cee Cee's eyes went wide. "You are such a bitch. You lost your virginity to him and only now do you feel like informing me?"

My sheepish expression confirmed her sentence.

"You are the worst friend, ever. I told you all about Ryan, in every fucking detail-"

"-I didn't ask for those details, remember, you freely gave them-"

"All the same, Suze. Spill."

I'd never really been one to kiss and tell, and I wasn't going to start now. I just settled for, "We're good together. Read into that however you want."

She wiggled her eyebrow suggestively. "He always seemed like—well, I mean, I heard rumours while we were still in school, obviously, but-"

I waved my hand impatiently in her face. "No more, new conversation please. Adam decided where you are going yet?"

Cee Cee shook her head. "I think he wants it to be a secret, so I'll probably know in less than a month."

"Yeah, Adam has never been big on keeping secrets. He says it gives him anxiety."

"He breaks into a cold sweat," Cee Cee confirmed with a nod. "Makes life easy, his body is like a lie detector."

"Don't you wish they were all like that?"

"Indeed."

The thing about working in the task force is this: we don't advertise what we're doing. We all signed confidentiality clauses when we were hired that prevents us from talking about our cases. So we don't. And I never wondered, even for a moment, the type of people that worked for the task force that I had never seen.

Until I ran into Dominic.

I had been walking down a different corridor to the one I usually did—because a set of lights had fried and maintenance men were fixing them—already drastically late, sipping my coffee held in one hand and juggling an assortment of folders, files and bags with the other. Then, out of nowhere, a man exited an office to my right and knocked the Starbucks container over my chest, creating the lovely contrasting effect only created by the mixture of coffee, a white blouse and intense bad luck.

"Thanks, so much!" I replied sarcastically to whoever it had been, setting everything down against the wall and surveying the damage to my new shirt.

"Suze?"

I glanced up into the face of a very guilty looking Dominic. I felt the colour rise in my cheeks. "Hey," I choked out.

He looked down at my blouse. "Sorry. I didn't see you there."

"Clearly."

Dominic looked uncomfortable, probably considering the last conversation we'd had with each other had been filled with bitterness and a lot of expletives. "_This_ is your new job?"

"Likewise. I thought you were a contractor."

He shrugged. "More or less."

I threw my half empty coffee into the nearby bin and bent down to pick up my things, slowly stacking them with both hands.

"I'll see you around, Suze," Dominic said, making his escape.

I sidled down the rest of the hallway, until I heard a cheerful, "Hey Suze," from behind. Paul.

"Hey," I replied, biting my lip and making sure everything was balanced. The last thing I needed was for everything to crash onto the floor.

Again.

Paul must have sensed, in a way, I was struggling, because he grabbed the stack of folders under my arm. I smiled gratefully, continuing towards my office, no longer walking like an Emperor penguin.

"I forgot to tell you Dominic worked here," he said conversationally. I darted a look sideways, controlling my impulse to hit him.

"Slipped your mind, huh?" I replied sarcastically, opening my door and shoving everything onto my desk. At least Paul hadn't noticed the-

"What's that on your shirt?"

Yeah, today was going to be one of _those_ days.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

**PRESENT TIME**

My shoulder had begun to cramp up. My hip was aching from the hard bed I was lying on. The florescent lights were burning through my eyelids.

These were just some of the reasons why I jerked awake.

I'd also had one of those dreams that were more like a memory, intertwining into my subconscious, similar to the bed sheets wrapped around my legs. Rather than mull over it, I decided that just trying to go back to sleep seemed like a halfway decent idea. I was lying there until I heard rapid whispering coming from the wall behind my head. I jumped, looking around in the direction the voice had come from, hoping against hope that I wasn't imagining a concrete wall talking to me.

Then it happened again, and I could hear where it had come from: a crack in the wall. A crack in which, if you positioned yourself just right, you could see into the next room over. I could see a sliver of a person's face through it.

"Hey! Hey!"

I could barely make out what was being said at first. It sounded almost as if she was talking to someone else, although who else she would be talking to was beyond me.

Then again, Henrietta never really struck me as a person who believed a conversation required two people.

"Are you talking to me?" I responded lowly. I didn't actually expect an intelligent answer, but I sure received one.

"Yes, you stupid idiot."

I suppose I couldn't blame her. You know what they say about stupid questions…

"Sorry," I mumbled. "It's just…I've never seen you talk to someone before."

"I've talked to you."

"Strangling me doesn't really count as conversation where I'm from."

She snapped back a remark that I couldn't make out, and chose not to try. Then I remembered something.

"While there is a concrete wall between us, I'll ask you this: how long have you been able to see ghosts?"

Henrietta didn't answer, so I figured maybe she hadn't understood.

"You know, you can see the dead? They look just like normal people?"

More silence.

"Help them? Talk to the-"

"Oh for fucks sake, shut up. I know what you're talking about," she hissed exasperatedly. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Right. Well, I do."

"Seeing ghosts isn't normal," she finally whispered. "Everyone thinks so."

I raised my eyebrows, though I knew she couldn't see it. "What, you _told_ people? Are you nuts?"

"Why else do you think I'm in here? Apparently I'm insane."

Her words were so similar to what I had told Dr DeSilva that I stopped, for a moment. "Yeah, I know," I finally replied. "Apparently I am too."

She sighed, and her face disappeared. "Well, what if we are?"

I thought about that possibility every day.

"Until there is some concrete proof that we're in here for a good reason, I'm holding on," I told her truthfully.

"There's not much point. They have more sympathy for you if you are crazy, than if you deny it. It's easier that way."

Thinking back to all the times she'd used violence to make her point, I rolled my eyes. "Acting crazy also doesn't do you any favours."

"Neither does saying there isn't anything wrong with you."

Touché.

I was about to whisper back a retort when I heard the rattling of keys outside my door. I hastily pulled back and sat against the wall, trying to look like I had been doing nothing wrong. I listened to the keypad, the scrape of the lock, all the while keeping my eyes hooded and my head bent.

The lack of privacy in this place was probably going to be the thing that drove me insane, in the end.

Finally the door opened, letting some of the light filter into the stark hallway. Jesse walked in casually and gestured to the other end of my bed.

"Can I sit there?"

"Knock yourself out."

He raised an eyebrow at my choice of words, which were a tad on the ironic side.

"Susan-"

"Suze," I snapped, cutting him off.

"Vulgar, remember?" he replied. "I have a few more questions to ask you."

"So ask."

He cleared his throat, looking a little uncomfortable. I admit I probably wasn't being as nice as I should have been, but I was too angry at the entire institution of this place in general to really care about diverting my emotions. I think I was also a little sore at Jesse because he had said that my new home was not permanent.

I'd been in here nearly an entire week, so, to me, that means permanent.

As kind as his intentions may have been—and as adorable as his smile was, and as caring and sweet as his eyes may be—I didn't really appreciate the false hope.

I ate up the heavy silence weighing between us, fuelling my fire. I had learnt to use silence to my advantage. Awkward conversations no longer scared me now. I wasn't scared of much anymore.

After nearly ten minutes of giving nothing but one word answers, he sighed and asked, "What is wrong?"

Such a loaded question.

"When am I getting out of here?"

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, looking a little pained. Like I was making him think about something he didn't want to think about.

"I…I'm not sure if that's anytime soon," Jesse replied slowly, as if he was choosing his words with the utmost caution.

I clenched my hands at my sides, where he couldn't see them. "What do you mean?"

He sighed, and said a little stronger—like he'd just realised that _he_ was the doctor and he wasn't supposed to be intimidated by a patient—"They couldn't find any video footage of your attack."

I hadn't expected that. "Say _what_?"

"The tapes in which video footage of your attack had been recorded onto cannot be found anywhere."

"I still can't process what you're saying," even though I did. Because if there were no tapes, then I couldn't prove I was attacked first. My eyes began to sting, and I was dangerously close to letting a tear fall. I looked away just in case.

"I'm sorry," he settled on saying. Then he pulled the always-present clipboard out from under his arm and continued to ask the questions he was supposed to ask, not once deviating from the list, which told me that some of my warning _had_ sunk in. Once he had completed the last question, he put the clipboard aside, and I saw that there was a large envelope underneath it that I hadn't noticed before. He handed it to me.

Instinctively I reached out for it, but he quickly jerked it away, giving me the tiniest of smirks. "A cleanout of your cell gave us a few things you may want returned to you, and a few that most definitely shouldn't be. First things first…"

He opened the envelope and pulled out Henrietta's folder, dangling it in front of my face.

My face fell. I'd forgotten to return it.

"That's not mine," I said.

His smile told me that he didn't buy my lame defence for a second. "No, it's not," Jesse replied. "And that's entirely the point."

"Fine. I took it. Am I in trouble now?"

He shrugged. "It all depends on why you took it."

I tried to make up a convincing lie.

"She attacked you a little while ago. Is that why?"

"Sure."

"Susannah."

I blinked. "What?"

"Tell me the truth."

Sighing, I blurted, "I just wanted to find out why she was attacking me, okay? And I found out, but it wasn't what I thought—she isn't crazy. Well, at least she never used to be. She was just like me, until she was locked in here. You can't blame me for being worried. I had Henrietta, but I also have Michael's sister, Sam, to look out for. Forgive me if you don't think that is a stellar reason for snooping a l-"

"Susannah, okay," Jesse looked a little bewildered. "But you cannot keep it."

I nodded. "I know. Can I have the envelope now?"

He paused for a little, like he was considering giving it to me. Maybe he was wondering if I would trade information for it. I sincerely hoped his mind didn't work that way.

It obviously didn't. He handed it to me, and I ripped it open. With a last glance at Jesse, I looked inside.

Photos. Photos I had kept deep under the mattress, so certain people wouldn't find them and blow their gasket. It had been so long I'd almost forgotten about them. I took the small stack out, and began going through them. I hadn't in years.

I looked at the first one, and realised why.

One was of Cee Cee, Adam and I at our favourite coffee shop, celebrating my first ever job with giant milkshakes. Adam had snuck some liquor from his father and we had sat there for hours, casually spiking the milk, until we could barely sit straight.

There was one of my father, and my mother, when they were both still alive.

One of my mother and my stepfather Andy with David, Brad and Jake.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and then another as I flipped to Cee Cee and Adam on their wedding day, something I couldn't have attended even if I wanted to.

I looked at the last one and quickly threw the other photos over the top of it, not wanting to look at it in detail. I couldn't. I knew David had meant well when he gave them to me a few weeks after I'd been admitted, but he couldn't have done anything worse.

Each one—but especially the last one—had reminded me of some pretty painful memories.

I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed heavily, trying to compose myself. I made the mistake of looking up at Jesse. He was watching me carefully.

"Who are they?" was all he wanted to know. I looked at him, confused, until he gestured to the photos I was holding limply in my hand. I looked down at them, almost in fear. The smiling faces would haunt me tonight, I knew. Regret was like a disease, infecting my body, mind and soul.

No. Not a disease. Diseases are curable. Regret was like a virus. Viruses constantly warp and change behaviours, making them almost impossible to destroy. And just like the common cold, the only remedy is time.

I couldn't hold them up and show them to him, like moments I was proud of, so instead I handed them to him, saying nothing. I watched him in a detached way as he looked at each one, his face unreadable.

He did stop at the picture of Cee Cee and Adam's wedding. "Who are these people?"

"Look at the back," I said shortly. Jesse turned it over, read the note that David had thought to write on the back, and nodded in understanding. "Do you miss them?"

I nodded a little feebly. "Of course, but it's been so long…"

We fell into silence once again, until he stopped once more, looking at another photo intently. He flipped it over and then looked up, showing it to me. I shut my eyes the moment I saw it, but the damage was done. The image was firmly imprinted in my mind, once again.

"Is that…were you…?" he trailed off, pointing to the spot on the photo.

"Yes," I said without emotion, fiddling with my fingers, balling up my fists, picking at my nails, doing anything else other than look at him.

After what seemed like years he had finally put all of them back in the envelope and handed it to me, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry," Jesse said quietly. "I had no idea…when you had to see him-"

"Not your fault," I interrupted him, staring at my knees. "It was all mine. All mine."

I could feel his eyes on me, but I refused to look at him. I just couldn't. Finally, he got the hint and excused himself. I looked up just in time to see his retreating figure.

"Hey! Suze!" Henrietta whispered through the crack in the wall.

But I did what I always do when I don't want to talk to someone. I rolled over, threw the pillow over my head, and shut my eyes, trying to block out the world I was in now, and trying to block out the people in it. I also tried to block out the reminders of what my life used to be like, and how I'll never get it back.

I especially tried to block out the image of Paul and I smiling, loving each other and enjoying life. It danced behind my eyes anyway, more painful than any wounds I had sustained in the last week.

An image of Paul and I, his head on my shoulder, grinning at the camera in the self-satisfied way he always does, clutching my left hand.

A hand with an engagement ring on it.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

**JUNE 2007**

There was a knock on the door, and Paul stuck his head around the corner. "Hey babe. What are you up to?"

I shrugged, standing up from my desk and shutting the laptop. It had been a few weeks since we'd managed to finally convince Amelia to admit what we knew was true all along—that, yes, her brothers were both tattooed and, yes, there was a very real possibility it was the same tattoo she'd told me about. We'd had no luck tracking them down, but we'd let the experts in that field take over.

We'd still gotten the promotion though. Harder cases with even less evidence, just the way we liked it.

"Nothing much," I said, yawning a little and walking into the kitchen. "You want a coffee?" I asked, my words muffled by another yawn. It became obvious when I grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard and began spooning Nescafe's 43 beans into each one that the last thing on his mind was caffeine and its rejuvenating abilities. He nuzzled his lips into my neck and snaked his arms around my waist. I giggled and tried to concentrate, which is harder when it sounds when a gorgeous man is doing everything he can to arouse you.

I eventually abandoned my task and let him lift me up on to the counter so he could kiss me properly. Which is what he was doing for a while—and I was happily reciprocating, hitching a leg up over his waist so I could pull him closer—when the phone rang.

"Just ignore it," he recommended, moving from my lips to my collarbone. But I could see that it was Nicola, so I answered it anyway.

"Miss Simon," she said, all business. "Are you busy at the moment?" I cleared my throat. Paul had travelled from my collarbone to, er, further down. Nicola continued to speak, unaware of my predicament. "Mr Serpatti and Mr Martin would like you to come in; we have a new case for you."

"Sorry?" I asked, biting my lip hard and attempting to push Paul's head away.

"We have a new case for you," Nicola repeated, sounding haughty. "And for Mr Slater. Can you come in?"

I felt my singlet being pulled down. It was good to know we still hadn't stopped competing. He was doing this on purpose, either to embarrass me, or to get me to hang up.

"I'm currently working on one of my other cases at the moment, but I will come in as soon as I can." I swallowed, pushing a little more urgently at Paul's head. "Is that okay?"

"Of course. Please let Mr Slater know that we expect him also."

Mr Slater didn't seem too concerned because what he did next was so indecent I had to hang up.

I made an embarrassing noise, and hit him on the shoulder. "Paul, you're nuts! That was Nicola."

He just laughed, and brought my lips to his again. "Prefer Nicola over me now? Didn't realise that's how you liked it."

"Yes. Because of you, I've given up on men. It's your fault."

Shrugging, he went to that spot underneath my ear that drove me so crazy I refused to take responsibility for what happened next, and therefore I won't put it into words.

Needless to say, it took a little while for us to both arrive at work.

"Suze! Miss Suze!"

The shrill, chipper voice of Vicki Hutchins travelled down the crowded hallway. I stopped and shut my eyes in embarrassment. Paul had made a joke a few days earlier that Vicki was the unofficial leader of my unofficial fan club. Despite this, I stopped politely and waited for her to catch up. I turned and saw her running haphazardly, darting around people like they were part of a sophisticated obstacle course. I felt a little embarrassed on her behalf for all the strange stares she was meriting.

"Good morning," I said as soon as she reached me.

She grinned, her hands going to the French twist at the base of her neck. "And good morning to you! Do you think we'll be getting any more cases today?"

"I sincerely hope not," I said honestly, thinking about the three I already had.

"I heard you solved the train case," she went on. "I can't believe you figured out the maintenance workers had tampered with the wiring! You are either a conspiracy theorist or a really good guesser."

"A bit of both, most likely," I said half-heartedly.

"What do you think?" Vicki continued.

"About what?"

She frowned. "If we'll get an individual assignment, or we'll receive another group one? I prefer group ones, they get solved quicker."

"I have no idea, Vicki."

"Oh, come on! You could act a little more enthused, Suze!" Then she stopped. "Ha! See? That rhymes—enthused, Suze. Get it?"

"I did. You're good."

She must have realised my words didn't match my tone, because she stopped. "Okay, seriously. I know its Monday and all, but you could be a little more chipper. I know you've been busy, but that's what makes it so much fun! Hey…" she zoomed in on my face, like she was seeing it for the first time. She looked critical under all her brown eye shadow. "You look like crap."

Such honesty. I'd like to thank my make-up artist for getting me to the top.

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

I didn't answer, looking through my folder. The blush creeping up my cheeks was a dead giveaway though. Vicki started scoffing, nudging me in the ribs with her elbow.

"Somebody got lai-"

She was cut off by the swiftness of _my_ elbow connecting with _her_ ribs.

She got the hint and shut up, muffling the giggles threatening to explode from her mouth. I'm sorry to say that was the same moment Paul came up from behind me and kissed me on the cheek in greeting. Vicki gave up any pretence of professionalism and howled, tottering away on her heels to her office.

"What's up with her?" Paul asked, gesturing in Vicki's general direction.

"Like I'll tell you," I said, and resumed walking with him alongside me. I reached my office and stopped, opening the door. All the doors in the hall were white with a name on the wall next to it. It wasn't fancy, but it was still respectable.

Paul drew me in for a quick kiss, his hands wandering just underneath the hem of my blouse, teasing my stomach with his fingers. We broke apart, and he squinted at me. "Are you okay? You look…tired."

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. Or the night before."

"What was keeping you awake?" he asked in mock concern.

"I wonder…"

I slipped into my office and tried to shut the door, but he stuck his foot in the doorway.

"Should I tell this person to stop it?"

I laughed despite my best attempts to keep a straight face. "Downsize that ego of yours, Paul. It'll be the death of you."

"But what a way to go…"

I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, motioned for him to move his foot, then closed to door in his face. I sighed, smiling contently. Then I glanced over my shoulder at my desk, which was piled with documents I still needed to read. I heaved another massive sigh, but for a completely different reason.

The day progressed slower than usual, and it involved sifting through folders, trying to decide which case to take.

This was the first case I was able to choose by myself, so I was a little nervous. If I picked one that looked too simple, it might look as if I was taking the easy way out and not challenging myself. If I picked one that was too hard, I was afraid that I would look like an overachiever.

The fact that I already had an extra ability to boost my job performance was already something playing on my conscience as it was. I wasn't like Paul, who believed the world owed us a favour for having the ability we had. I felt bad that everybody else had to go about things the old fashioned way, and I was getting results without much effort.

It should have been a simple decision. In the end, I narrowed it down to three cases, all murders. The first was a victim found dead in a clothing warehouse. The second was an older man dumped between two washing machines at the local Laundromat. I shuddered. The last one grabbed me the most. A woman, Rebecca DeMirrosso, in her early thirties had been found hanging upside down in her garage. I looked at her cause of death and gagged, it was so disturbing: the killer had taken out her intestines while she was still alive. You don't even want to know how she was hanging, but the killer hadn't used rope, for starters.

A sudden icy wind surrounded me, making up my mind.

I had to do this one.

So, with my forehead in my hand, I pored over the document, learning everything I could about the case. I knew it wouldn't be much; we wouldn't have received the case if there was a possibility the police could crack it alone.

I found a name halfway through. It was of Rebecca's ex-boyfriend. He was the first—and probably only—stop. I looked his name up, and was copying down his contact details when there was a light knock on my door.

"Suze?"

I looked up and smiled a little warily.

"What do you want for lunch? I'm doing the rounds." Vicki looked barely excited at the prospect.

"Um," I glanced down at the note I'd written on. I quickly folded it and put it in my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. "I'll come with you. I need to make an errand, anyway."

Her face brightened considerably. "What do you have to do?"

I shrugged. "Not entirely sure yet, to be honest."

If she thought this was a weird answer, she didn't say. We strolled out onto the main street, which was buzzing with people everywhere. People in business suits lined up at the various food outlets, and those in normal day wear lounged inside cafés or shopped, taking their time.

My stomach growled as the scent of food hit my nostrils, so I told Vicki what I wanted and slipped her some money, telling her I'd meet with her in a moment. I looked for a payphone, hoping I wouldn't have to walk too far.

I was in luck. I found one near a shop at the base of an apartment complex. I went inside, slipped in some coins, and dialled the number I'd copied on my post-it. Something about this case had made me use every precaution I could, and using untraceable numbers was one of them.

Rebecca's boyfriend had been the main suspect, but evidence had fallen through, and he had walked because there hadn't been enough to convict him. That didn't mean he was innocent.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

I was about to hang up in resignation when he answered.

"Hello?" his voice was deep. He sounded like a big guy.

I cleared my throat, and asked who he was. "Who wants to know?" he replied nonchalantly.

"I do," I said, as confidently as I could. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Rebecca DeMirosso."

He didn't say anything at first, but when he finally replied anger laced his words. "Look, I went through this with the police months ago. I had nothing to do with it."

"Yes you did, because you were her boyfriend. Can you tell me about her?"

"WHO is THIS?" he demanded.

"I understand you're frustrated, but I just needed to know about-"

"No!" he exploded. "Fuck, you people…I thought this was all over with. I had nothing to do with her murder!"

"I never said this was about her murder," I replied coolly. "But now that we're on the topic-"

"You leave me the fuck alone, woman." He hung up.

I frowned, and hung up the phone. I'm not exactly a stellar judge of character, but even I knew he was defensive. And he had gotten defensive far too quickly; he was definitely hiding something.

"Suze!" Vicki called from across the street, weighed down with bags. She handed me my lunch. "What are you doing at a payphone?"

"My phone died. I had to call someone really quickly."

"Oh, wow. Next time let me know, my phone is fully charged. Payphones are totally unsanitary. You finished?"

I nodded, but I wasn't. I looked down at the post-it, and put it back in my bag. I was going to get to the bottom of this.

I was not finished with Michael Hindler _at all_.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

**PRESENT TIME**

I woke to darkness. I couldn't even see my own hand in front of my face; usually they left a dim light on as a security precaution. Not now.

I heard the clicking of the lock, like the system was being manually overridden. What was going on?

I could barely see the warden illuminated in the doorway. The only light seemed to come from an emergency supply in the corridor. I knew straight away that I hadn't dealt with this doctor before. And it was clear from the moment he began talking that the last thing he wanted to do was deal with me.

"Geddup." He flicked his hand between me and the door.

I sauntered out of the door.

"Don't try anything," he warned, taking a firm hold of my upper left arm, "or I'll snap this arm, and both will be in slings."

He probably could, too.

Underneath the weak light I could see that he had dirty brown hair that looked messy on purpose, with a neatly trimmed beard. I'd seen him walking through the halls but never spoken to him before.

I definitely hadn't been missing out on anything.

He steered me through the halls, out of the high security area, and down towards the centre of the hospital. I had no idea where we were going, and the warden didn't volunteer any information, either.

Along the way we met with another warden, tugging Henrietta. For the first time since I could remember, I didn't feel fear when I saw her. I glanced at her as we walked side by side. She looked as dull and haunted as ever. The piece of energy I used to see, dancing in her eyes—even as she tried to strangle me—was gone.

"Change in location?" the warden holding Henrietta asked. The one holding me grunted.

"Security measure, I'm afraid. We should just let these ones rot, but with the circuits fucking up…"

He trailed off. I was only half listening; I was more interested in where they were taking us. What I wasn't doing was paying attention to where I was walking; I tripped over an overlapping in the linoleum. I shut my eyes, instinctively throwing my arms out to break my fall, waiting for the impact.

Instead of falling onto the floor, like I expected, the arm that was being held was violently pulled back. My shoulder screamed in agony, like a knife was being traced around the joint. I regained my balance and bit my lip in an attempt not to cry; I soon tasted blood.

"Keep moving," the warden hissed in my ear, releasing my arm from its painful angle and returning it to my side. I quickly moved. My vision was swimming from unshed tears.

_One step at a time, Suze. One at a time_, I told myself.

I don't know if it was the silence, or the fact that my ears had become attuned to unsettling sounds, but a few moments later, like the tinkering of shattering glass, there was a scream. It seemed to have come from the direction we were heading.

The man holding me froze, and then started walking again, faster this time. The man holding Henrietta did the same. "Keep moving," he said in a less controlled voice, his fingers biting into my skin harshly.

I kept my senses alert for any other noises. I could hear the general sounds of a commotion—distant banging, a crash that sounded like metal on a hard floor—but not much else, unless you count the other doctor getting paged. He picked it up and frowned, then pulled Henrietta to a stop.

"What?" Garrett asked. He pulled us to a stop.

"Emergency in Dining Hall A. All personnel who can be spared have to help."

Garrett made an impatient sound. "I fucking told them that putting everyone together was a stupid idea."

"You're preaching to the choir. Take this one," he pushed Henrietta over. Garrett grabbed her with his other arm. "Take them back, fuck the circuit breakers. We don't need these two in on it as well." He strode off down the hall. We had just been jerked around in the opposite direction when Davida came around the corner, sounding frantic.

"Oh thank god, Garrett. I was looking everywhere for you. It's Sam Hindler, I—where's Lewis?"

"Just got called to go help," Garrett replied stiffly.

"Weren't you?"

"In case you failed to notice, I'm babysitting two high security patients. What's going on?"

Davida looked stressed. "Sam...she went berserk. It's almost like she knew that we were disorganised today, or something. She started attacking Felicity, and then she yelled out something, and the rest of the patients revolted, and-"

She stopped suddenly, like she had just realised that Henrietta and I were standing there. She obviously didn't want us getting any ideas.

Too late. I shared a meaningful look with Henrietta that spoke volumes.

Davida clearly wasn't too keen on sticking around, because she too ran off down the hallway. I could now hear yelling and screaming; I couldn't see what was happening in there, but it wasn't too hard to imagine.

"Let's go," the warden said, pushing us along.

My eyes found Henrietta's. I counted to three and twisted quickly out of his grip, using a manoeuvre I had learnt way back in high school and had never needed to use until now. I elbowed him in the stomach—with my injured arm—but it still gave the desired reaction. Garrett gave out a loud wheeze, and then a yelp as my fist connected with his nose.

He stumbled back and released Henrietta in surprise. We both mauled him, knocking him over and sending the three of us sprawling across the cold floor. Henrietta laughed like a maniac, kneeing him in the groin a few times. I winced on his behalf, feeling sorry for him for all of three seconds, pulling her off him. Then I weaved my fingers together and created a large fist, jumping and swinging it into the side of his face.

I waited for another cry of pain, but it never came. He was out cold.

I took a moment to worry that perhaps I was getting a little _too_ good at knocking people out. Then I ran over to Henrietta, grabbing her arm and running. If anyone was around, or if the security cameras were working, we didn't have much time.

If memory served, we were near the north-east corner of the hospital, near one of the main exits. It was risky going there, but it would be riskier sticking around, especially if the security guards manage to take control of the patients again.

My lungs ached by the time we reached the main desk. It looked deserted, but that didn't appease me at all. No matter how bad things got, there were always people patrolling the exits. Always. I pulled Henrietta to a stop and ducked behind the corner again, breathing heavily and waiting for…something.

Then I heard it. Two sets of heavy footsteps approaching from the other side of the office. I swore under my breath and pulled Henrietta closer to the wall. She looked at me with a puzzled expression; she didn't look nearly as scared as she ought to have been. I guess she figured she had nothing to lose.

I suppose I didn't, either.

I held my breath and looked around the corner. Two security guards stood with their backs to me, facing the doors, their arms in front of them, holding something I could see. I should have known. Putting a finger to my lips, I started tiptoeing back down the hallway we had come down, motioning to Henrietta to follow.

We had only gotten a few paces away when I heard a voice from around the corner.

"I've been sent to check the exits are secure. Have you been here all night?"

I stopped quickly, pulling Henrietta down to a crouch with me. It was Jesse.

"For several hours," one of the guards answered. "No one has gone in or out. Satisfied?"

"Of course," Jesse said easily. "I'll keep you updated."

I heard footsteps. Without contemplating what I was doing, I pulled Henrietta around another corner a few feet down the hall. It was a little alcove with a bathroom, definitely not ideal hiding conditions. We could hear his footsteps coming closer; I thought for sure he would catch us, unless we covered ourselves in a white sheet, hugged the wall and thought of England.

I could hear Henrietta holding her breath. I know I was holding mine.

We shouldn't have worried. Jesse walked right past us without as much as a sideways glance. Either he had no reason to suspect patients would be hiding around corners, or he wasn't being as thorough as he should have been. Either way, my instincts told me to follow him.

I waited until he was at a safe distance then, with my heart in my throat, I pulled Henrietta up. She made a noise of protest, but I whispered for her to trust me.

The dim light helped to conceal us a little, but I still waited for Jesse to turn the corner before we bolted after him. He seemed to be sticking to the outer halls, checking on doors and windows as he went by. We kept out of sight, following him like shadows. It was a solid strategy…until we lost sight of him by being too cautious. We peeked around a corner a few moments later, only to find he had disappeared.

I swore under my breath. "He's gone," I whispered to Henrietta. The hall was empty, apart from a sliding glass door on the right.

She looked around me, and swore too. "What do we do now?"

"Do I look like I know what to do?"

"Well, yes. That's why I was following you!" she whispered back furiously.

"I never said I had a plan," I said defensively, looking around the corner again just in case Jesse conveniently reappeared in the hallway again.

Henrietta was wavering on what you could call hysterical. "Well, when you started tugging me around, I figured you had one."

I walked over to the glass doors and observed them, trying to see if it was simply locked or required a swipe card to open it. I rattled it a little. Key, definitely. I couldn't see a swipe card box anywhere. Henrietta was still talking.

"So what, we go back and say that we're sorry for knocking that guy's head in? They can smack us on the bottom or something. I'm sure they'll forgive us-"

"Shut up for a second," I cut her off. I could hear footsteps.

We froze.

Sighing, and preparing for the inevitable, I turned on my heel to face the way we had come. And my stomach dropped.

"What are you two doing here?" Jesse asked, looking surprised. He had come up behind us. "We're in lockdown."

"Mystery tour," I answered weakly.

Henrietta chipped in. "Thought we saw a mouse. Wanted to get it out…of the hospital."

"Clean hospital."

"A sanitary hospital."

"Which is why you're messing with one of the exits?" Jesse asked, walking towards us.

Henrietta shrugged. "We're cleaning the glass too. It's a bit dirty."

"Sure is," I supplied, feeling like a moron in trouble. Big trouble.

He gave me one of his looks. You know, one of those I-can-see-right-through-you-and-your-noble-intentions looks. His expression may have been sarcastic, but his voice was soft. "What are you really doing, Susannah?"

I felt like crying. I couldn't think of anything to say. My answer didn't really matter, in the end. It's not like Jesse could do anything other than protocol, which meant taking us back and locking us up. I think he was aware of that, too.

I mean, what did I think he was going to do? Let us go, when it was clear we were trying to escape? He wouldn't do that. He couldn't do that.

He did.

While we were looking at each other, I saw something in his eyes change. It was gradual, but definite; there was some emotion there. What emotion it was I couldn't figure out, but after a few long moments he put his hands into his pocket and threw something at me.

I caught it clumsily and stared down at my hands in disbelief. Keys. A whole ring of them in different colours and shapes.

Speech was impossible, but he didn't need me to say anything.

"Go."

I blinked.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Use that door and hug the wall until you get to the south-west corner. I never saw you, okay? Go."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Henrietta gaping in shock.

In a daze I found the right key, put it in the hole and turned it. I expected an alarm to go off, but Jesse just said, "The whole system is in meltdown. No alarms," he gestured to the ceiling, "and no cameras."

Henrietta held up the door while I ran back to him, putting the keys back in his palm. His hand was warm. I had the sudden urge to grab it, and I don't know why.

"You understand what you've just done, right?" I whispered.

He smiled a little. "Yes. Go, and stay out of sight. Good luck."

Shock was still binding me, but I somehow thanked him and ran back to Henrietta, slipping through the door that separated the hall from an outside pathway. I breathed in deeply. Just to reassure myself it had actually happened, I looked over my shoulder through the glass.

But he was gone of course.

We followed his instructions to the letter, sticking to the wall and ignoring the cold pavement on our bare feet. It was heavily overcast, and so late in the day I knew we would run out of light very soon. I hoped that would work in our favour.

The south-west corner, as it turned out, was a chain link fence covered by overgrown trees in an outdoor area clearly built for staff use. There were superficial luxuries like pot plants, which surrounded tables and chairs which were clearly not bolted to the floor like the ones I was accustomed to. It had a very relaxed atmosphere. People weren't treated like time bombs in this area.

"What do we do now?" Henrietta asked.

I wasn't sure. Jesse had wanted us to escape this way, but I couldn't see why. For example, there were no flashing neon signs in the fence stating 'exit here, all patients attempting to escape', which would have been convenient. Then again…

"The trees," I said, running over to the corner. The trees that had grown into the fence were part of woodland enveloping the back of the institution and the hill it sat on. My attention was on the branches, some of which had been left to grow through the wire. Barbed wire sat at the top of the fence, of course, but the tree was higher. I gestured for Henrietta to come closer, and I placed one foot in the chain link to give me some momentum, and my other foot on the branch. The branch creaked under my weight, but held. I repeated the manoeuvre over and over, moving higher and higher, until the branches were closer together. From there I was able to twist myself enough to get a foothold on each, thanking my childhood obsession with always wanting to climb trees in the park and not being satisfied until I had reached the top. I was older, granted, but the ability hadn't been lost on me.

Once I had climbed high enough I traversed the top branches easily, and then it was just a matter of descent on the other side, making sure I didn't misstep in the dying light. I finally landed on the other side, breathing heavily and resting on my hands and knees.

"Your turn," I said to Henrietta. She didn't look excited at the prospect. She started slowly, and managed to get halfway before she froze, holding onto the branches and looking at me with a slack expression.

"I can't do this," she said, so quietly I could barely hear.

"Yes you can," I replied encouragingly. "I'll talk you through it. Step on the branch near your hip with your right foot. Make sure you hold the branch above you to keep you steady."

But she didn't. "No, you don't get it. I can't do this. Heights."

Oh boy.

"It's not that high, really. And it's dark, so you won't be able to see the ground," I said reassuringly.

"Oh yeah. I'm not scared anymore," she replied sarcastically.

At least, I had thought it was reassuring.

"Henrietta, put your foot on the branch."

"I'll fall."

"I'll kick your ass if you don't move. Foot. Branch. Now."

Screwing her face up in equal parts fear and determination, she clutched the branch above her and stood on the branch, then repeated the move on the opposite side.

"Now, you see the branch just to your left, and how there is another branch just behind it a little higher? You need to jump onto that one and use the branch behind it to steady yourself."

"Fuck that," was her eloquent response.

I rolled my eyes. I felt bad that she was scared, but I was also shaking with anticipation. We were running out of time. The fact we hadn't been discovered at all was some kind of miracle. I tried not to let desperation creep into my voice. "Henrietta, if you don't do this, you won't get out of here. What is scarier to you?"

Clearly I had said the right thing. She jumped then, without hesitation. She had just managed to balance herself carefully, when two things happened simultaneously.

A huge light on the building behind Henrietta came on, flooding the staff area and the tree with light.

And the door below it burst open, revealing security guards.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

**JUNE 2007**

"Hello?"

"Please tell me about Rebecca."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"I will," I sighed, "once you give me information."

But he had already hung up on me.

I sighed again, hanging up the phone. This was becoming repetitive. I had been using the annoyance tactic, hoping persistence would win him over, but so far it wasn't working. He just wasn't giving in.

For a self-proclaimed innocent man, he wasn't acting very innocent.

I walked out of the phone booth, looking up at the sky for a few moments. Very rarely did I get the chance to just stop and appreciate the view, but I had time today to do what I pleased. Then, folding my arms, I proceeded to walk down the street. I should have been using different pay phones to call Michael, but it was the only one close, otherwise I would have to walk another couple of blocks to find another.

I suppose that was where I had gone wrong, not that I knew that at the time. I see dead people, after all, not the future.

I slowly made my way back towards the work building, looking through the windows of shops as I passed, but not seeing what was inside. I was too caught up in thinking about what I was going to do with the case.

I was stuck.

Don't think I hadn't already transcended and tried to find her in my special way. Rebecca had died so violently, I had presumed she would still be hanging around in limbo. But it hardly ever worked so conveniently. Not everybody hung around. I had called her, and I had tried to summon her, but she hadn't come. Either I was losing my touch, or she was gone.

I was so caught up in contemplating my next move I hadn't even noticed a person standing in the middle of the walkway, facing me. I was about two seconds away from collision when they stuck their hands out and grabbed my shoulders, jerking me to a stop.

"Suze? Hello?"

I blinked and shook my head, aware I must have looked unattractively vacant. "Sorry, I wasn't looking."

Paul smiled, revealing all of his shiny, white teeth. He looked like a poster model for Colgate. "Clearly," he remarked. "Otherwise you would have seen…these." He thrust a bunch of pink daisies in my hand. My jaw dropped.

Pink daisies? This guy knew me too well.

"Wow," I cooed, inhaling their scent. The only thing better than white daisies are pink ones, I had said to him once. They aren't very easy to find, but he had. I stood up on my tiptoes and kissed him.

Paul just grinned, and put his lips to my forehead for a moment. When he pulled back, he said, "Are you heading back? I just left."

I shrugged, clutching the flowers to my chest. "I have some time, but I was thinking of going back."

He draped his arm across my back and put his hand on my waist, turning me around and pulling me down the path I'd just walked. "No, I'm force feeding you some ice cream."

"What if I don't want any?" I asked teasingly.

One of his fingers around my waist jabbed me playfully in the ribs. "If hanging out with me is such a daunting prospect, just think—free chocolate chip cookie dough. Fair trade?"

"I suppose."

When we were finally seated in a booth, a large dish filled with ice cream and fudge between us, he asked about my case. I shrugged, not really feeling up to explaining all that was happening with Michael. "Yeah, fine. Just a few things I need to work out…what about you?"

He gave me a sarcastic grin. "Nothing like the murders you got. I got a theft case instead. Someone's supply of heroin was stolen. I need to find out who took it, and give the guy some piece of mind. As much piece of mind as you can have in a ten by twelve, which is where he'll be afterwards," he said. "Stupid guy actually reported it."

I giggled.

Paul smiled in response, but then looked at me a little more seriously. "You are alright, aren't you? I know you had a choice, but to you it wouldn't have been a choice. You're Susannah Simon; you would have taken the hardest one."

"How do you figure that?"

"It's a little obvious," he shrugged. When I looked at him questioningly, he elaborated. "Everything in this place is common knowledge. The fact that you're doing the Rebecca DeMirosso case is making some people a little…unsettled."

I put my spoon down in the dish. "They wouldn't have given me that option if they didn't think I could handle it. I'm doing fine, honestly."

"She was found hanging by her intestines, Suze."

A chill ran down my spine that I tried to ignore. "A fact I'm quite aware of by now."

We didn't speak again until we had finished overloading on sugar. I sank against the seat. "Besides, I have to take the case, because of that reason. That girl…Rebecca, her murder was just gruesome. I imagine it is bad enough being killed. But when the sight of your body afterwards makes people want to lose their lunch…that is so much worse."

"I have to agree with you on that one," Paul admitted, looking a little weary. He slid sideways out of the booth and held out his hand. "The offer is always there, too. I can help you if you need it."

I knew. Though much had changed between us, I knew that never would. I took his hand and stood, too, placing a small kiss underneath his jaw.

We walked into the room. I took one look at women unrolling mats, and changed my mind.

"I don't want to do this," I told Cee Cee.

She cocked an eyebrow at me. "Get over it, Princess. I call this friend bonding time." She threw her bag onto the ground and started unrolling her own mat.

"We could have gone for coffee. Or gone for a run. I've never been very co-ordinated with this kind of thing."

"Quit bitching and unroll my mat, please."

Cee Cee was, of course, referring to the mat under my arm which I had borrowed from her. She said she always had two, so she would have no excuses. Due to that, _I_ now had limited excuses.

Not that I didn't keep trying.

"My hip hurts. I really shouldn't be aggravating it."

Cee Cee threw me one of her looks I recognised right away. I'd seen her give it to Adam on more than one occasion: _do what I want or I will MAKE you do it_.

"Suze!" I heard from across the room. I looked over to see Vicki in full yoga gear, looking surprised. "What are you doing here?"

I looked at Cee Cee sarcastically. "I've been wondering the same thing. I didn't know you did yoga?"

Vicki nodded, settling down next to Cee Cee. "Of course, twice a week. I didn't realise you knew Cee Cee, too. Small world."

"Getting smaller," Cee Cee confirmed. "Do you work together?"

"How did you guess?"

"Suze doesn't have any friends, apart from me. I presumed."

I poked my tongue out at Cee Cee. "She doesn't let me have any, that's why."

Vicki shrugged. "Guess I'm the exception. Just follow us if you get lost, okay Suze?"

Get lost? That usually means you had an intended direction.

A few hours later I was back at my apartment, resting my head on Paul's lap. His fingers were absentmindedly combing my hair. After a few minutes of companionably listening to music I had put on, he said, "You're thinking too much."

I blinked, noticing my eyes were dry. I'd been staring off into space. Again. "What?"

He smiled lazily. "You. You're thinking too much. Stop, or share."

"I'm not thinking too much."

"Right."

"I'm not!" I denied, looking up at him. "I'm just scarred from yoga. You should have seen me, it wasn't pretty."

"Don't distract me with visuals of your legs up near your head. You were doing it at lunch, too, but I didn't want to push you while we were in public. Are you sure you're up to this case? You've been stressing over it for days." He grinned when he saw the expression on my face, and added, "Don't think I don't notice these things, Suze."

"You doubt my skills?" I asked, in a mock-offended voice.

Paul shook his head. "I don't doubt you, or your ability to solve cases. I'm just saying that I hope you haven't bitten off more than you can chew this time."

I was about to protest when my phone went off. Twisting, I dug it out of my jean pocket and answered it.

"Hello?"

For a few seconds there was a cold emptiness. Then a cold, harsh voice I could never forget reached my ears. "…Hi Suze. Remember me?"

My eyes widened, and I gripped the phone hard. "No, I'm afraid I don't," I said quickly.

Michael laughed. It sounded mocking. "Yes you do. You're probably wondering right now how I managed to ring you? How I even managed to find out what your number was…" He let his words sink in, before dropping the bombshell. "Moreover, who _you_ were…"

"Ta…I…I don't…" I spluttered into the receiver, all too aware of Paul's eyes on me, trying to figure out what was happening. This was too…

He continued talking. "You see, making repetitive phone calls from a payphone to someone's cell, especially from the same payphone, is pretty stupid. Especially in front of an apartment complex. It would be really bad luck if the person you were harassing happened to live there, and have a view of that payphone from their window…but then again, you never said you were lucky, did you?"

I tried to swallow, and found I couldn't.

"I take it from your silence I've shocked you. Hypocrisy is a hard pill to swallow. You don't like it so much when people interrupt your life and say things you don't like to hear, yet you did it to me. I would go so far as to say _relentlessly_ so."

Paul was giving me a sideways look, along the lines of "explain…please?" but I could barely look at him. My mind was, quite simply, in overdrive.

So, I did what anybody in my situation could do. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I responded calmly, ignoring the thrill of adrenalin in my veins. "I have never rung you in my life. I don't recognise your voice. Unless, of course, you're from the infomercial I called about the other day?"

I was meriting looks that were becoming more and more bewildered from the boyfriend, but I continued.

"In that case, where is my fat blaster? I know you said thirty days guaranteed, or your money back, but I can hardly get my money back if I don't have the actual product!"

Paul blinked. He probably thought that I'd finally cracked, resigned to my fate of being locked in a white room with no windows.

Michael just chuckled in my ear. Every sound sent chills down my spine, freezing me to the core. Not even Paul's arms—which were holding me—provided any warmth. I was almost shaking.

"Right. That was entertaining. I'll keep in touch."

The finality of Michael hanging up, and the dial tone that sounded afterwards, was almost more threatening than his voice. The finality of the state of blissful peace I was unaware I lived in until now, the finality of underestimating Michael.

I'd been so intolerably stupid. And now that he knew what I looked like…

"Suze…who was that?" Paul asked. His voice was an echo in my head.

Who was that?

Only the man who would eventually destroy my life.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

**PRESENT TIME**

"Don't move!"

Henrietta moved, her fear forgotten. She had clearly paid attention to what I had done, because she followed my exact path over the barbed wire. The security guards scattered, with some heading straight over to where we were positioned and others going left and right, presumably to come around and grab us from the sides. We weren't waiting for that to happen. Henrietta moved quickly, her face white with fear. Her shirt got caught on the wire but she furiously ripped it free and jumped, landing heavily next to me and grunting in pain.

I grabbed her by the arms and pulled her up. "Can you walk?" I asked hurriedly.

She nodded, and I started pulling her towards the trees. I could hear them coming. "We need to run," I warned her.

"Then let's stop talking about it."

She started a quick pace and I took off after her, heading downhill and deeper into the trees. I couldn't see where we were going but it didn't matter; the guards were chasing us, and we had to get away or it would all be for nothing. Branches were whipping my face and my clothes, and I tripped on several occasions, but I kept going, stealing deep breaths from my lungs and keeping an eye on Henrietta's retreating form several feet in front of me. She veered off to the right suddenly. I followed her, not thinking twice. I soon realised why; there had been a giant ditch lying behind a copse of trees. I hoped the guards wouldn't see it until it was too late.

Eventually we skidded to a stop, listening desperately for any sounds of pursuit, breathing heavily.

Henrietta started pulling her shirt off, wadding it into a ball and shoving it behind a rock. I peered in the darkness, confused. "What are you doing?"

She looked at me like I was stupid, and pointed to my uniform. "Right," I said, pulling my shirt off too, throwing it with Henrietta's. The pants soon joined them, leaving only our undergarments. The breeze was cool but not entirely unpleasant after running for so long; instead of feeling exposed, I felt…free. I inhaled deeply. There was wetness on my cheeks, and when I swiped at it with my hands, I realised it was tears.

We didn't stop for long. We kept moving down and through the forest, knowing we would eventually reach the highway that led back to town. Once we did we darted across the bitumen and ran back into the trees, enough to be concealed but still keeping within sight of the road.

I should have been worried about what to do, but I wasn't. I had escaped. I was elated, dodging around the trees, breathing in air that seemed so fresh in comparison to what I had experienced in the hospital, and using muscles that hadn't been exerted in three years. I would hurt tomorrow, but I didn't care.

It is impossible to explain the feeling. Words can only describe so much. It was like I was an empty shell that had just fleshed out and become something that mattered. If not to humanity, or to the rest of the world, then at least to myself; _I_ mattered now. I think Henrietta was feeling the same—if not more—than I was feeling. The grin on her face was so shocking, it looked foreign.

There was no room in my mind at first to consider my current situation, but I soon had to, especially once we had reached town. We both collapsed at the edge of the trees, heaving and exhausted, waiting to catch our breath. Once we did, we took a good look at ourselves.

We had nowhere to go.

Ditching our uniforms, which had seemed like a smart idea at the time, had severely limited our options: there was no where we could go in our underwear without being noticed.

"Follow me," Henrietta said. I had no other ideas, so I did. We stayed within the shadows of the trees until we found a property situated off the road, surrounded by an expanse of land. There were no lights on in the windows, and no cars in the driveway.

"Wait…" I said, but Henrietta had already taken off, motioning for me to follow her. I did, feeling a tad ridiculous. She didn't stop until she had reached the back door. She was peering through the windows by the time I joined her. Then she looked over her shoulder, spied an innocent garden gnome at the base of the stairs, and used that to break one of the windows. I cringed, about to tell her to be careful, but she climbed through quickly. There was shuffling, and then the door swung open, revealing Henrietta with a pleased look on her face.

"Let's get some clothes on, or we'll start a riot."

The inhabitants must have been all male, because we couldn't find a woman's bedroom anywhere. We settled for some simple drawstring sweatpants and an oversize shirt, slipping our feet into sneakers that were a few sizes too big and putting our hair into buns.

"See?" Henrietta swivelled. "Would you believe we were two soccer moms going on a late afternoon run?"

"I'd believe that," I said in response, looking at myself in the mirror. "I mean, we're not even remotely fashionable. It's totally authentic."

I felt bad about breaking in, and would have left something if I could, but we settled for shutting the drawers neatly and closing the back door behind us. From there we walked towards the town.

We may have been clothed, but it didn't solve our next problem.

"Do you have any idea where we can go?" Henrietta asked a little while later. I didn't want to admit that the same question had been plaguing me for the last half an hour. Just as we'd thought, our outfits drew no attention, so it had been uneventful. The street we were walking down was dark and deserted.

I was looking for street signs and landmarks, trying to familiarise myself with the place again, when Henrietta stopped.

"What's wrong?" I asked, stopping also.

She was looking to her right, at a run-down house with a few broken windows. The paint was peeling underneath the graffiti. The garden was overgrown, with weeds stretching out towards the street.

"What's wrong?" I repeated.

Henrietta sighed, and pointed to the house. "I live—_used_ to live there," she said. With just my mother. But…obviously no one lives there now."

"You still could."

"Really?"

"We'll figure it out. Maybe we could get our names changed, somehow? I haven't really thought that far ahead, but one thing is for sure," I took a deep breath, "we are _never_ going back there, ever again."

"You promise?"

She looked so young in that moment. I found I couldn't lie to her.

"I don't know. How about 'I don't think so?' Is that better?"

Henrietta grinned, setting off towards the house. I frowned. "Where are you going?"

She turned, gesturing towards the front door, which had been slightly kicked in to one side. "Home. Maybe there is still a mattress or something there."

It took a few seconds for me to realise we were parting ways. I knew it had to happen, but I hadn't thought it was going to be so soon. But it was, and like everything else in life, things don't wait for you. You either can go freely, or resist as much as possible; either way, you're going.

"Wait," I said. I gave her a hug in parting. I couldn't believe that someone I used to be so scared of had ended up being just like me, just another person wanting to be saved. We had saved ourselves. I felt a swell of pride as I saw her jump through one of the broken windows, just like before, land unscathed, and disappear from view.

Then I blinked, looked around quickly, and set off down the street.

Only this time I was alone.

I looked up at the sky that had been covered with glittering stars an hour ago. But they weren't there, instead covered by a blanket of heavy cloud.

Then there was a rumble.

Taking a deep breath, I began to carefully run down the footpath, keeping my eyes peeled for people. The last thing I needed was to be seen and looked at too carefully. I ran until I reached a street that I remembered with clarity, arriving at the only place I could possibly go to.

The only place housing a person who wouldn't send me back to where I came from upon sight.

I really didn't want to do it, but desperation is desperation, and this was my only resort.

I slowly walked up the large steps to the front door. The sky above rumbled with intensity, and I flinched as I was hit with a raindrop.

Breathing in and out, I extended my hand, and then withdrew it just as quickly.

What if _she_ was home? Could I risk it?

Would I be stupid enough not to?

The house was bigger and far more intimidating than I remembered it to be. The large glass windows reflected the streetlights.

Then another raindrop hit me, making up my mind. With a shaking hand, I rang the bell. As I waited the rain drops became heavier, slapping my bare skin harshly. Finally I heard thumping footsteps, and the door handle turn. Then it was flung open.

He stopped dead, clutching a bottle in his hand with a weak grip, clearly not believing the sight that lay in front of him.

I crossed my arms over my chest in an effort to protect myself from his questioning gaze and looked up at him cautiously. A solitary raindrop landed on my scalp, trickling down the parting in my hair, onto my forehead, and rolling down my cheek until it rested on my lip.

And still he stared.

"Uh…Paul?" I tried to say, but my voice cracked, and instead it sounded like a strained croak. It seemed to shock him into action, because he quickly pushed the door open and leant on the frame, his hand running through his brown hair, looking bewildered.

This side of Paul was new to me. Then again, this had been a visit he most definitely had _not_ been expecting.

I slowly shuffled inside, taking in the surroundings that used to be so familiar but were now marred by all the changes he had made over the years. To be fair, I hadn't expected it to be the same. Changed were the most obvious things: the appearance of red curtains instead of the pure white ones I had loved…and his wife obviously didn't. Stacks of magazines replacing the novels I had kept in the bookcases. Decorative vases here and there filled with large candles that had never been used.

This house was stamped with the identity of a woman who had made it her mission to redecorate entirely. A woman, who by the lack of screeching, I deduced was not home.

Paul walked around me and led me to the lounge room. "Sit, if you want."

I nodded and found a place.

"You want something? Coffee? Water?"

He had decided to treat me as a regulation house guest. An interesting coping strategy. I shook my head. Paul, I noticed, was finally regaining the composure that made him so infamous on the task force. He was never surprised, and nothing ever seemed to shock him. Until now, I suppose. Although there was that one time, before all of this, when I said—

Never mind.

I sunk into the couch, looking around. The couches were different: black leather. I had loved the cream-coloured ones that were so soft they encased you like a warm blanket. This room didn't look soft or comforting at all. It was filled with sharp colours—extreme colours, like black, red and brown—that couldn't be compromised in any way. The whole room had undergone such a metamorphosis; wiped clean and changed…

Just like me.

All the personal touches I had made years ago were gone, replaced with someone else's.

Paul sat next to me, but at the end of the couch, about as far away as one could sit without falling off. He placed his half-empty bottle on the oriental-style coffee table—a bottle called Jack Daniels—and gave it a weird look, shaking his head.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say I was hallucinating."

"I'm here," I replied weakly. "You changed the coffee table," I mentioned, trying to be conversational. "What did you do with the glass one?"

I saw a flash of something in his face, then. If I had of known him like I thought I had, I would have said it was vulnerability mixed with sadness and regret. But I hadn't known him, at least not in the way I had thought. I had forgotten a very important fact, four years ago: Paul Slater never did anything that didn't benefit Paul Slater. He had cared once, I knew. But it hadn't been enough. Or maybe it had been too much…either way it didn't matter now. We may have been sitting in a lounge room that we had shared so long ago, but the person sitting across from me now was not the same person now.

I fiddled with my hands and did nothing else, attuning to the silence. I still knew him well enough to know what he wanted to ask me—if I had of been in his situation, I'd want to know, too—so after a few long minutes, I finally answered his unspoken question.

"I got out."

For the first time since I was standing on his doorstep, Paul locked his eyes with mine. It sent an eerie chill through me, like some of the ice that lined his gaze had slipped down the back of my shirt.

"How?"

I shrugged, still feeling goose bumps. "Oh, you know, the old fashioned way. Took them down. Hi-jacked the place with fists and syringes."

A hint of amusement surfaced on his face, but it was quickly shadowed again, drowned out by a more dominant emotion. If he gave me a few minutes, I might be on the way to figuring out what that emotion was.

"Suze…" he started, mumbling quietly. He rubbed his hands over his face, like he was tired. "Why are you here?"

I stared at him. There were so many answers to that question, lies I could think up in order to hide the humiliating truth. But it was the truth I settled on.

"I have no where else to go," I whispered.

He looked haunted, like an internal battle was being waged, because of me. "You can't. I mean-"

"Don't worry, I'm not planning on staying forever," I cut him off. "I'd hate to intrude on your time with Maria-"

"Marcia," he corrected automatically, eyeing me. The familiarity of that sentence sent a pang to my heart.

"Yes. Marcia. Sorry, how could I have forgotten?"

"Look Suze-"

I cut him off again. "I'll be blunt with you, Paul. I need help. Clothes. Money. Then I'll disappear out of your life forever. You won't hear from me again, and I won't bother you." I cast a look around with bitterness. "Not that you really noticed I was gone in the first place, of course."

He arched a brow in reply, letting his eyes speak for him, accusing and letting me know I'd gone too far.

"And why should I help you?" was his only response.

The words sat between us like a wall.

I took a deep breath. "You bastard." I whispered the words with all the vehemence that had accumulated in the last four years, hating him…blaming him…

"Why should you help me?" I told him. "You owe me. You owe me the last four years of my life. You owe me everything your perfect and sadistic wife does to me everyday. I mean, did you think I was that stupid?" I was aware I was ranting, but I couldn't stop. It was coming from somewhere I'd kept hidden from him…maybe even myself. "I know what you helped her do. You stole the security tapes and you helped her get rid of Cassandra-"

"You're talking shit."

My eyes flashed in fury. "Don't even think of doing that. Don't have the lack of conscience to play dumb, pretend you don't know. After everything you put me through-"

"After everything _I_ put you through? You were the one who refused their offer. The one who went public! What did you think would happen? That the world would take you SERIOUSLY?"

I laughed harshly. "Is that the justification you used when you turned me in?"

An unforgiving silence fell between us.

Paul visibly deflated, looking stunned. "I didn't. I didn't turn you in, I swear."

"Don't give me that," I snapped, looking at him expressionlessly, standing up and turning to face him. "You were covering your own ass, like always."

His eyes hardened. "Oh, like you weren't?"

Resentment flared. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. So what do you want me to do?"

I stopped for a moment and stared at him, disbelieved, at the sudden turn in conversation. "You'll help me? But…what about your wife, are you…?"

Paul pressed his lips together angrily. "No, I won't tell her. But this wipes the slate clean. After this, I owe you nothing. Be glad Marcia isn't here tonight," he said matter-of-factly.

She was probably at the institution, still, restoring order. I wouldn't be surprised if they hadn't already found us missing, and if by some stroke of luck they hadn't? I'd give them until morning. Despite our lack of importance to the rest of society, we were still a liability.

"What do you need?"

I collected my thoughts, and began rattling some things off the top of my head. "Clothes. Shoes. Cash—a lot, if you please. A bath. A haircut…"

A life…

I didn't mention that part though.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

**JULY 2007**

Paul handed me a white bandage, and instructed me to wrap it around my knuckles.

"Why? Shouldn't the gloves be enough?"

"Punch without the bandage, if you like. Actually," he swiped the bandage out of my fingers, "do, so I can say 'I told you so' later."

I snatched it back, giving him a dirty look. "I'll do it. I was only asking a question."

I fumbled, and Paul quickly took over. "It's to support the hand," he explained. "You remember the first time you ever punched somebody?"

Of course I did. Paul would have remembered too, considering it had been his face.

"Your hand hurt like hell afterwards, didn't it?"

"Only because I couldn't punch for shit."

"No, because punching somebody hurts if you don't know how to do it properly. You'll thank me for this tomorrow." He finished wrapping my other hand and then bent down to grab a pair of boxing gloves. I took a moment to appreciate the view of Paul in workout clothes, then slipped them on, facing the hanging punching bag he had installed a few years ago in one of the rooms of his house. It was black and intimidating and about as tall as I was.

I took a swing, and impact jarred my arm. The bag barely moved. "Well," I said, feeling thoroughly useless, "that was effective. The bag won't want to mess with me now."

Paul laughed. "You'll build up your strength, don't worry."

"Why did you think this would be a good idea? It's just embarrassing."

The humour died off his face, and was replaced with something serious. "I'm doing it because there is something bothering you. No," he added, seeing the look of indignation on my face, "don't bother lying, I know it's true. I thought, since you didn't want to share, you could find an outlet, somehow. Work out your frustrations the way I do without going to jail for assault." He pointed to the bag in a flourish. "Meet Tom. He and I go way back."

"You want me to beat the shit out of Tom." I replied flatly.

"I want you to beat the shit out of Tom," Paul confirmed. I looked at him blankly, unconvinced. "If it doesn't work, if you don't feel better," he said, "then we can go upstairs and express your aggression in a more mutually satisfying way. But for now, you're stuck with Tom." He gave the bag a push in my direction. "Try again, the way I showed you."

I nodded, and concentrated, positioning my body the way Paul had told me to, and jabbed at the bag. There was less pain in my arm this time, and the bag actually swung a little. I smiled in accomplishment and tried again. With each sound of impact, concentration became habit, and I found myself sinking into a similar stupor when I shifted, focusing all my energy on one particular outcome.

Except I didn't feel peace, the way I did when I shifted. It was anger, anger I hadn't even known that existed, lurking underneath the surface, but Paul must have seen somehow. It was rage, it was frustration; a million dark feelings. I pummelled Tom as if he had personally insulted me, and I didn't stop until I fell to my knees, gasping and exhausted. When I looked up through my hair hanging in my face, I saw Paul still standing there to the side, arms across his chest and a grim look on his face.

I had an icepack balancing across both my hands an hour later.

"You better keep that on for at least half an hour," Paul commented, sitting down next to me on the lounge. I laid my head on his lap and stared at the ceiling, feeling the cold seeping into my knuckles.

"It's going to hurt in the morning," I said with certainty. Paul just nodded. He turned on the television, but I could tell he wasn't watching it. He pretended to, for half an hour, before turning the volume down and sighing.

"You were consumed in there. You know you're going to have to talk to me about it at some point," he said. I could tell he had wanted to say this for a while; his words were precise and practiced like he was a bad actor reading off a script. "You can't keep me in the dark forever."

Or so he thought. I was trying my hardest, phone calls aside. I'd tried to smooth things over since then, but Paul was smart. He'd managed to fill in most of the blanks.

"I don't want you involved," I answered, turning my head towards the television. "I _won't_ get you involved. So feel free to drop it."

"Suze," I felt his hand move languidly up my spine. My skin, traitorous as ever, jumped underneath his touch. "If you think I'll drop it, then you don't know me at all."

I jammed my eyes shut and tried to ignore him, not to mention his fingers, which were performing a slow dance up and down my back, trying to seduce a confession out of me. Considering Michael's phone call and all the emotions that came with it had reduced my sex drive to the point of extinction, _a lot_ of seduction was in order before that happened.

"Suze…"

I put one of my hands over my ear, swelling be damned. His fingers moved from my back to my side, hovering above my ribs.

"Suuuuuze…"

He wouldn't.

"Go away."

He did.

I shrieked, he tickled, I shrieked again, he tickled some more. "Tell me," Paul said simply, "and the torture will stop."

"Never!" I shot back. Soon he was tickling me so much I could barely breath aside of my laughter, let alone talk. Finally I seized his hands and used a sudden burst of strength to pin him against the couch, straddling him.

Paul grinned. "Now, _this_ I like…"

"Shut up. I want to watch the news." I rolled off him huffily and sat next to him with my chin on my knees, my arms locked against my sides to guard against any more hands intent on torturing me.

Thankfully he got the hint. "Alright, I won't ask again. Tonight, anyway."

_That's reassuring_, I wanted to say, but I wanted him to drop the conversation. I felt his arms wrap around me and I flinched instinctively at first, and then slowly stretched out again, leaning into him.

So many things could have kept me awake: paranoia and fear and worry about the future. But it didn't. Maybe it was the news, maybe it was being in Paul's arms—a barrier of warmth and protection—but I found myself falling into a dreamless sleep.

Days went by, without as much as a whisper from Michael, which lulled me into a false sense of security. I assumed he had meant to scare me off his trail, which had worked, thank you very much. Solving Rebecca's case was still a priority, but pissing Michael off was not, and I was intending on keeping the two mutually exclusive in the future.

It was selfish, I suppose. All that mattered was what I wanted at that moment, and that was all. Perhaps being a little self-centred was my undoing. Beauty of hindsight.

Cee Cee had called me that morning in a spur of spontaneity, and requested that we have a look through one of the shopping malls; in particular, the bridal building that sat in the middle of town. I usually tried to steer clear of busy places filled with plenty of people, but I decided I would rather have a headache and feel like my ribcage was compressing then to sit at home and dwell, reflect and think. Especially considering the fight I'd had with Paul the night before over the case, something I'd rather forget. It wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't been the same old argument about him wanting involvement, because he wasn't technically doing anything wrong. Instead I'd accused him of returning to his glory-seeking days, and it had all gone downhill from there.

There was something about Michael that chilled me to the bone. It may have been the fact he was so resourceful, or the fact that while I had no clues to his identity, who knew who I was and how to reach me. It may have also been the fact there was a very large chance he had disembowelled his girlfriend for reasons yet unknown. But I knew for sure I wasn't letting Paul anywhere near him.

Someone else who wasn't me could deal with Michael far more effectively. I was done.

"Where to, my lovely lollipop?" Cee Cee asked, pushing a few strands of fringe out of her eyes. I just shrugged, happy to be in her presence and distracted.

"Well," I began, nudging her with my elbow. "You wanted a pretty dress so we'll find you a pretty dress. We may as well start with the tried and tested."

What I was referring to was a boutique located on the third floor of the bridal building, the same place that my mother had found her dress when she married Peter five years before. It was a modest but sophisticated shop, decorated with white framed mirrors that sat from floor to ceiling and fur rugs on the carpeted floor. Black and white cushioned stools sat in the middle and racks of dresses sat along the walls just waiting to be tried on. The attendants wore all black and greeted us happily; I had told Cee Cee we didn't need to make an appointment, and she soon found out why.

"Susannah Simon! How lovely you are, how have you been? And how is your mother? I have not seen that woman in nearly a month." The attendant kissed both my cheeks, balancing on her heels and looking perfectly put together with her straight blonde hair and artfully made up eyes that hid her age quite well. Her name was Olivia, and she another of my mother's good friends. "You let Helen know she hasn't gotten out of our lunch date this weekend, won't you?"

"Of course," I said. I turned to Cee Cee. "This is my friend Cee Cee, and she needs your expertise."

Olivia's face lit up and she moved over to Cee Cee, kissing her cheeks and demanding to see the ring. She cooed appropriately. "How beautiful, and the colour! At least we can tell he's taken notice of your eyes."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Cee Cee remarked good-naturedly. "Purple is one of his favourite colours, he probably just thought he was being sneaky."

"Nonsense," Olivia smiled, bringing Cee Cee's hand up next to her face. "It's exactly the same shade. Your man is a keeper, for sure." She turned to me. "Cee Cee is a stunner. You've given me an easy job."

I just shrugged and smiled. Cee Cee, looking embarrassed but pleased, was pulled by Olivia over to one of the racks.

"Price range?" Olivia asked.

Cee Cee shook her head. "Not really. Adam gave me free reign. 'As long as your boobs look good in it', he said."

"Romantic," I commented, laughing.

Olivia, looking excited at the prospect of no limit, went to work, showing Cee Cee the various designs while I watched from the stools, making suggestions. One by one Cee Cee came out from the changing room, looking radiant. We cheered and clapped excitedly for each one, however the fourth dress she tried was met with silence by both Olivia and I. It was by no means extravagant—there wasn't a lot of beaded detail, there were no ruffles or hoop skirts—but it wasn't special for those reasons. It so beautifully enhanced her figure that I knew instantly that she would choose this one.

Cee Cee, for once, was rendered speechless; she just looked at herself in the mirror, the flush in her cheeks creeping down her neck. Then she turned around, with tears in her eyes.

"I'm getting married, Suze."

I started crying too and gave her a hug. "You are," I whispered into her ear. "If Adam wasn't marrying you, I would after seeing you in this dress."

Cee Cee laughed. "I look good?"

"You look amazing. Adam will think so, too."

"He had better." She gingerly wiped underneath her eyes, so as to not smudge her eyeliner. Fifteen minutes later Cee Cee had ordered the dress, Olivia had given us another set of kisses and we were back in the mall, looking at the vendors and buskers. One of them was doing the caricature drawings of a couple, making them look grotesque. The man had a forehead the size of a small country, and the woman's nose was bigger than her neck. Unfortunately, it was a fairly close resemblance to the actual couple; Cee Cee and I giggled cruelly.

"Well, you know what they say, pictures don't lie," I murmured behind my hand.

"No they don't. How no one told me that short hair was a good look for me, I'll never know."

"The same way you never told me that I shouldn't apply dark coloured eye shadow up to my eyebrows?"

"Oh please, that was like, tenth grade."

"I'm still scarred."

"You were fragile. You would have cried if I told you how ridiculous you looked."

"Right back at you, blockhead."

Cee Cee pouted, her hands moving to her hair. "That was an awkward time for me. My hair didn't know how to lie flat."

"You're right; it was more pyramid-shaped."

"Oh get lost. I'm not shouting you a juice anymore," Cee Cee said, pretending to storm over to the juice bar. We ordered, and I put my money in the attendants hand before she could. Cee Cee smiled cheekily. "Fine. I suppose you're forgiven."

I was about to answer when I noticed a man with black hair sitting on one of the benches in the middle of the mall, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands folded. He looked like an average citizen, except for the fact that he was staring directly at the two of us from behind his dark sunglasses.

My stomach turned over and I looked straight back for longer than was probably polite. He didn't look approachable; there were heavy boots on his feet, and a dark brown leather jacket stretched across a strong broad build. The longer I looked the more nervous I became, so I tore my eyes away and hooked my elbow through Cee Cee's, who was drinking her juice with not a care in the world.

I told myself that he hadn't been looking at us, that he had probably been staring in a general direction, but when I looked over my shoulder to check my stomach twisted even more: he was walking towards us.

I didn't think twice. I grabbed Cee Cee's arm and veered us into an alleyway we were about to walk past, which housed a number of small boutiques, food outlets and walkways. I pulled us into one of the larger stores and behind a rack of clothes that sat behind a display.

"What are you doing?" Cee Cee hissed furiously, but I put my hand over her mouth to silence her. She furiously tried to object underneath my hand, but I shushed her. Her eyes widened in confusion, but nodded, and I took my hand away, grabbing two hats that sat on top of the display and placing them on our heads to conceal Cee Cee's tell-tale platinum blonde hair. I held my breath as he walked through the front doors and surveyed the store, not even bothering to remove his sunglasses.

His attire was gathering attention, considering the store we were in was for underwear. The young women were giving him wary looks, like he was going to throw his coat aside and dispatch a gun.

The scary part about that assumption was that it was not entirely unfound.

Cee Cee's eyes widened as she pushed her hat up a little, peering around the display. She had clearly noticed the guy before outside, but hadn't paid him as much attention as I had. She stared at me, her eyes even wider as she put two and two together. "Is he following us?" she mouthed. Nobody ever claimed she was slow.

_Was_ he following us? It sure looked like it.

Slowly, leather jacket walked around the shop, pushing aside clothes in racks as if expecting to find something else in there. Or someone else. I shuddered. It felt like my body had dropped a few degrees in temperature.

Once he had moved deeper into the store near the counter, I nudged Cee Cee and pointed to the door. She nodded, biting her lip, and stepped out from behind the display and towards the door as casually and quietly as possible. We probably would have pulled it off too, had we not still had the hats on our heads when we went through the sensors at the entrance.

I yelped in surprise as the red lights flashed and the alarm sounded. Our hands went to our heads and pulled the hats off, seeing the prominent security tags used to stop shoplifters hanging from the edge. I scolded myself for forgetting about them.

We were immediately swarmed by assistants. Smiling sheepishly, we apologised, saying we had forgotten we were wearing them. They sceptically glared, snatching the hats, and walked away, putting them on the displays once more.

Feeling completely humiliated, I turned and practically walked face first into the person standing behind me, blocking the entrance.

Oh…

I swallowed, blinking dumbly up at leather jacket man, unable to move. Cee Cee, I saw, was looking at me from behind him, unsure of what to do.

He was still staring down at me, particularly unnerving because he still hadn't taken off his sunglasses. He seemed pretty intent on saying what he wanted to say, however, because he said roughly, "You don't like it, do you?"

I just looked up at him dumbly some more.

"You don't like feeling like you're being followed, unsure of what a person wants but knowing they won't stop until they get it?"

"Uh…" was my sophisticated reply.

"I thought as much." His lips were quirked, a little like Paul's were at times. Except when Paul did it, my blood didn't run so horribly cold with sick realisation. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.

"I don't know who you are, but I don't want anything from you. And you shouldn't need anything from me. So we have nothing more to talk about."

Michael just seemed amused by my stuttering reply. "Keep a lookout, Suze. I'll be making sure you don't get anything from me."

I barely had time to think about this before I was yanked around him by a very scared Cee Cee and pulled away.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

"_Regrets and mistakes, they're memories made  
Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?  
Sometimes it lasts in love,  
And sometimes it hurts instead."  
- Adele: "Someone Like You"_

**Chapter Eighteen**

**PRESENT TIME**

I trudged up the stairs clutching a handful of Marcia's clothes. The walls on either side were painted a rich white and were empty except for a few expensive paintings. Paul's house was the epitome of class and taste. I felt unwelcome and out of place, and tried not to touch anything I didn't have to.

The bathroom was still shining in its crystalline glory. Bright daisies stood like an afterthought in the corner, and for a moment my pulse quickened stupidly. I was brought down to earth by the realisation I must share something in common with Marcia.

The bath was large and inviting, but I wasn't sure if I had enough patience to fill it. Instead I opened up the shower door and stripped off, bundling up my dirty, sweat-laden clothes and throwing them into the corner. I made the mistake of looking sideways at myself in the mirror.

The last four years had not been kind to me, and you could plainly see the toll it had taken on my body. It looked like it was comprised of nothing more than bones and skin. My skin was pale, and my face was drawn, like years of unhappiness had been permanently etched into my skin for the world to see. My straggly brown hair fell to my waist. My green eyes, which had always sat large in my face, looked exhausted, haunted. I was a shadow of my former self, in every possible way.

I turned away, not wanting to look anymore. A pile of CDs sat on a ledge next to the bath, and I wandered over while I waited for the shower to warm up. I picked one up and studied it. I had no clue who the singer displayed on the cover was, which served as a startling reminder of how much time I had lost. Just because it had moved monotonously slow for me didn't mean it had stopped for others. It had kept on, changing things the way only time can.

The steam was beginning to swirl around me, fogging up the windows and mirror. I set the CD back down and entered the shower. The water was hotter than was allowed in the institution. Hotter, even, then I preferred four years ago. But it was the right temperature for me now.

I relished the feel of it heating my battered skin, and I scrubbed my body and hair furiously, trying to purge the stain of the place that, only twelve hours ago, I had been locked in. But I didn't feel better. I didn't feel safe, I didn't feel free; it was like the chains had extended into this house. The knowledge I had once been so happy here now only served as a torturous watermark for the present.

The steam made the air thick, and my lungs felt heavy. Too tired to stand anymore, I sank down to the floor and curled my legs up, ducking my head and just letting the water beat down on my back and neck. I wrapped my arms around myself and let go.

Coming here had been a mistake, a huge error in my judgement that I was paying for now. After everything we had been through, I should have known I would feel this way—four years had been long enough to wear me down. Pretending can only shield you from the truth for so long, and then the shield breaks.

A tear fell.

Paul was married. I had known this, of course, for a long time, but here I had to face the confronting evidence. I'd been replaced by Marcia the minute I'd left the position vacant. She didn't need to be here in the house to remind me, for this very _house_ was a reminder. Marcia had erased everything that had once been mine and replaced it with herself.

I muffled my face with my hands and sobbed as quietly as I could, only accidently letting a few loud, wracking cries free. I let them come the way I hadn't allowed them to for four years. I sat there until my skin wrinkled and I had no more tears. I didn't have a plan, but I knew one thing: I had to leave this place as soon as I could.

I pulled myself up from the floor and shut the water off, grabbing one of the fresh towels from a pile, drying my frail body and wiping the tears and the water away in one swift motion. I wrapped the towel around my body and walked over to the basin, using my palm to sweep away the fog on the mirror. A wreck, ruined by both emotional and physical pain, stared back at me.

Hopefully time would be able to fix _that_, too.

I took a few shuddering gasps to calm myself. I needed to pull myself together. I couldn't allow Paul to know how much this was affecting me. How much _he_ was affecting me. We may not have spoken for four years, but the competition between us had never died, and I needed to firmly stay ahead. There was nothing left for the both of us. I had now been reduced to a burden, a piece of guilty conscience, which was the only reason I was here right now. I hadn't been surprised or insulted by the reasoning behind his decision, for I had counted on it.

I picked up Marcia's spare clothes and shook them out, before letting the pants fall back to the floor. I almost couldn't bring myself to put them on. I had no other option, though, so I pulled the pants on, tightly knotting the drawstring, and pulling the long sleeved shirt over my head. Then I opened the bathroom door and tiptoed quietly to my temporary room—an unused guest room towards the back of the house—and sat down on the bed, combing my hair and feeling a little lost.

Life in the institution had been terrible, of course, but it had routine. My stomach gave an unexpected growl, and I realised I hadn't eaten a thing in hours. The idea of returning downstairs was fairly unappealing, however; I remained in my room, staring out the window, until my stomach sounded again.

I ruffled through the drawers in the room and finally found a bathrobe amongst other clothes. Marcia obviously used this room as extra storage for her clothes; opening the closet door to find racks of shoes confirmed this. Four years ago a shoe collection of this standard would have made me both simultaneously weak at the knees and envious beyond belief. These days I couldn't care less—what was a pair of high heels in comparison to having the freedom to do whatever you choose?

I slipped the bathrobe on and crossed my arms over my chest insecurely, walking down the stairs towards the kitchen, navigating myself purely by memory. It was dark except for a dim light shining above the stove. I made my way over to the freezer, and rummaged until I found it, pressed up the back and caked with ice: a container of ice cream.

How I had gone four years without ice cream was beyond me.

I held it over the sink and dusted off the ice, then grabbed a spoon and sat on the counter, eating small mouthfuls and enjoying every one. I rested my head against the cupboards behind me, tucking my legs up and letting out a small sigh.

I had presumed I was alone, until I heard the sound of a glass being placed on the table in the next room. After much internal debate, I slid from the counter and walked to the doorway.

"What are you doing down here?" Paul asked. I couldn't see him clearly; he was cast in shadow, with only the watery street lights shining in through the curtains. I wondered if he had been sitting there since I'd disappeared upstairs.

I stood there dumbly, in my bathrobe holding a spoon of ice cream. "Uh…pigging out?" I admitted lamely, licking my lips nervously. "I would have asked, but I figured you'd gone to bed…" I trailed off when I noticed what he was holding: a bottle, different to the Jack Daniels he had been consuming before. I hoped he had just wanted a different taste sensation, and hadn't finished the first bottle.

He stood up unsteadily.

Shit.

Paul had always held his liquor well; _I_ had always been the drunken mess. He wasn't supposed to get drunk, not tonight.

Without another word, I made my way over to him and grabbed the bottle off the table, ignoring his protests and marching towards the kitchen to down the rest of its contents in the sink. I heard him come into the kitchen behind me. "Why are you drinking?" I asked him exasperatedly, but he clearly wasn't listening to me.

"Why the fuck did you do that? You don't fucking throw good shit down the sink!"

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed in mock surprise, turning to face him. Then I levelled my expression, looking at him stonily. "I just did."

"That's fucking messed up."

"The only thing messed up right now is _you_. Who do you think you are, some tortured artist or something, drinking by yourself in the dark? You're a total cliché!"

Paul's eyes flashed. "You think you have the authority to make that call?" He grabbed one of the decorative vases sitting on a shelf near his shoulder and threw it across the room in anger. It shattered, making a beautiful mess on the floor. Considering I had been prone to Paul's theatrics before, this action only earned a raised eyebrow from me. "Good to know you haven't fucking changed one bit," he snarled.

"Good to know you _have_," I retorted, putting my hands on my hips and staring him down. "Since when do you drink hard liquor anyway? You always went for piss-weak beer instead." I knew provoking a drunken person was both unfair and unwise, but I couldn't stop.

Paul moved over to the opposite bench, resting his hands against it and hanging his head, watching the floor. The alcohol was clearly going to his head; he looked like he was trying not to vomit. "Since I decided quantity over quality was the way to go." His words were as sarcastic as ever, but they lacked the usual conviction.

My immediate reaction was to snipe back with a, "_Well, clearly_," but something made me stop. I didn't want to bring Marcia into this. The kitchen simply wasn't big enough for that conversation. Instead I moved a few steps toward him, not sure what to do. "You should go to bed, Paul."

He didn't answer. Instead I could hear him breathing deeply. In fact, from the angle I was standing he didn't look sick; he looked like a man praying for patience. I bit my lip. I could always handle a sarcastic, angry Paul. I could never handle _these_ ones, the ones where part of me just wanted to touch him and make sure he was okay, to try to end his suffering if I could. But I couldn't do that anymore.

"Why were you drinking?"

Paul eased himself up, instead turning and leaning his head against the cupboards, shaking his head slowly and shutting his eyes. He looked a hundred years old. "Suze, just stop asking questions. Just…stop…" he mumbled.

I didn't. I ignored his plea for me to basically shut up, and asked again. "Why?"

Silence. I watched him pathetically. What could I do? "Uh…here. Sit down." I grabbed his shoulders and pushed on them gently, forcing him to sit down on the floor, his back resting against the bench. Then I let go quickly. "You didn't answer me, Paul. Why are you doing this?" No answer. "Do you want me to leave?" Paul didn't answer that either, which was fast becoming a habit.

I sighed in frustration, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard. I filled it with water and handed it to him. He took it, but then placed it above him on the bench. Paul was just…looking at me, his eyes heavy and his mouth slack.

"Well," I said, grabbing the spoon I had been using and placing it in the sink, "you know what? If you're not going to tell me what your pity party is for, I'm going to get some sleep." I put the ice cream back in the freezer and slammed the door shut. I'd started for the staircase when his hand shot out and grabbed my ankle.

"Don't," he breathed, flinching a little when I whipped around in surprise.

"Don't what?" I demanded.

Paul just gazed up at me like…I wasn't sure exactly, but I could hear a pleading in his voice I hadn't heard before. There are things my mind simply refuses to process, and right now I was struggling to justify how Paul Slater, a man who was always collected, always controlled…was now sitting on the floor, looking defeated.

"Don't leave," he breathed.

I sighed, and looked over my shoulder to the staircase. I _could_ leave. Time with Paul was dangerous. But I also had never turned away from somebody asking for help, either. So that was why I sat down on the floor next to him, asking "Why not?" and trying to look inquisitive, instead of plain nervous. "Why not?" I tried again.

He bowed his head, looking down at his lap instead of at me. He was acting a little like a petulant child, except he was twenty eight years old.

"Paul, look at me or I swear to god I'll hit you," I seethed.

He looked up at me, his icy blue eyes suddenly not to icy. It was like he was having an internal battle that I couldn't understand, or moreover, _wanted_ to. His mind is a twisted thing. I've known that since we were young. It proved more confusing than quadratic equations. "Why did you come here tonight?" he asked.

"I already told you," I replied, impatience lacing my words.

"Why did you come here, really?"

_Honestly_? "Because I knew you wouldn't turn me away."

Whatever I had said was obviously not what he'd wanted to hear. His expression looked as if I was standing on his feet with sharp high heels and refusing to move. "It must be a nice luxury, to believe that."

I was confused for a few moments, then I realised what he was getting at. "Wait. We're not talking about what happened four years ago, are we?"

His eyes were judge, jury and executioner.

Four years ago was something I had no desire to discuss, and I told him so. "Can we not go there, please?"

"Why did you leave?"

I released a sigh, and slumped against the wall next to him, digging the palms of my hands into my eyes. "Please, can we not go there?" I repeated.

"Double standards, Suze."

My hackles rose. "You invented the term 'double standards', Paul. Don't get high and mighty on me now," I snapped defensively, a knee-jerk reaction.

My hands were wrenched away from my face. "You said you wanted answers. Well, I do too."

"I don't want to talk about four years ago. It's…done. It's over."

Paul wasn't having it. "I am sick of having to listen to what _you_ want, Suze." His voice was steady, so, so steady. It scared me more than if he had of starting shouting and breaking more aesthetically pleasing ornaments.

"What do you mean?" I asked carefully, aware of his hands wrapped around my wrists.

His eyes narrowed. I would have thought he was sober, if not for his pupils, so big they made his eyes look black. "I'm sick of having to listen to what _you_ want, what _you_ think is best. As if I have no opinions," Paul glared at me. "I do."

"I never said you didn't have any! I have no idea what you're referring to-"

"I'm referring to Michael Hindler, Suze."

I bit my lip, thinking carefully. Four years hadn't changed Paul's opinion on the entire scenario, the way four years had changed mine. It hadn't been anything Paul or I had done; it had been the situation that had gotten out of control. What was clear was that Paul didn't know that it had torn me to pieces, that much was obvious.

"What happened…I said it was for the best, Paul. It was."

"Exactly!" His eyes stared me down, pinning me to the wall. "That is exactly what I'm talking about. 'It was for the best'…I find it so hard to believe that. If I had of meant even half as much to you as you said I did, then how did you let it all go so easily?"

"That is so unfair to say. You're alive because of what I did."

"You didn't even look upset, Suze. You have no idea…"

Somehow, this hurt too much to ignore. "No idea?" I was aware my volume was rising, but I barely cared. All the anger management classes of my youth were forgotten in this moment. "No idea? Don't you dare presume it meant nothing—I didn't exactly have time to dwell on our situation, before…"

We were glaring so hard at each other.

"I know you were upset over it all, Paul. I get that. But you didn't have to do what you did. You didn't have to turn me in as some kind of balm to your wounded pride."

"Oh FUCK OFF," he yelled, looking angrier than I had ever seen. "For the love of god, _I didn't turn you in_."

"Then who did? Who else knew everything about me?"

He began heaving himself up. "I don't know how I can convince you it wasn't me, but you know what? I don't care. I'm done. I want you out."

I stood up too, slowly. "You're throwing me out?" Paul didn't look my way. "You say you didn't screw me over four years ago, but what do you think turning me onto the street is going to do?"

He shook his head in disgust.

"Huh?" I pressed. "I don't have a lot of choices, Paul. Go back into that living hell, where I probably won't last another six months? Sam, Michael Hindler's sister, is in there too! She has it in for me, and she's already tried to kill me once."

That didn't merit a reply, either.

"Paul, I'm going to go CRAZY in there, if I haven't already-"

"ALL RIGHT!" he shouted. "Fuck, stop the guilt trip."

"I'm not guilt tripping, I'm stating the obvious. If I go back, you may as well write me off as dead."

The look he gave me then would have broken the heart of the cruellest person in the world. "Don't talk like that." His voice shook.

"Why not? It's the truth. You were always the one telling me to be honest."

Paul strode over, and before I could blink, he had me pinned up against one of his ridiculous sub-zero fridges. "I was."

I sniffed, trying to swallow the fear that was rising like bile in my throat. His hold on me was firm. I felt so…fragile.

As quickly as he had grabbed me, he released me and shook his head, running his hands through his hair. "Just answer the first question I asked. _Do it_."

I breathed in deeply through my nose, looking at the floor. I was standing on a precipice; if I was honest, I could never take my words back. But did it really matter what I said? It had been four years. We had gone through so much apart and together. This was just another chapter, another moment, a simple clarification of a time long past.

"I did it because I didn't want you hurt. I…I loved you back then," I said quickly, because there are just some things you don't say to a married man, "and I didn't want you to be at risk like I was, like the rest of my family was."

My vision was blurring. I thought I had cried the last of my tears in the bathroom, but apparently not.

"I was doing the best for you. Especially after my m-" I broke off, and swallowed the lump in my throat that had replaced the fear. Only it didn't disappear, like I hoped. Instead it was rising, like a flood.

Just saying that was admitting that I was so very, very alone. My mother was gone, with my stepfather and stepfamily on the other side of an invisible barrier, divided by circumstance and belief. Cee Cee and Adam…I couldn't see them, even if I _wanted_ to. And I did, so, so badly.

A sob escaped me.

Paul made a move towards me, and I stepped back, blinking furiously to try and stop the tears. It didn't work. So I did what any other normal person would do when faced with the two natural ultimatums: fight or flight.

I ran.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

**JULY 2007**

"What the HELL WAS THAT?" Cee Cee demanded as she pulled me into the women's bathroom, her back to the door. I ran over to the sink and splashed cold water on my face, ignorant of my makeup. I closed my eyes and took a very deep breath.

"Well?" she asked shrilly, looking about as freaked as I felt. Well, maybe not as freaked as I felt, considering she hadn't known who Michael was, or what he was capable of.

"I don't know," I ended up saying. "I…I honestly don't know. Do you think he might have mistaken me for somebody else?" I cringed at how lame I sounded.

"Right," Cee Cee said sarcastically. "That's _exactly_ it, mistaken identity. So what he said to you had absolutely no relevance to you at all, right? I'm just imagining it?"

I shrugged, still struggling to breathe.

"What did he say before I grabbed you, anyway? I couldn't hear him."

I shook my head and looked into the mirror. My mascara hadn't run, which was lucky, but my cheeks were still flushed from my encounter with Michael. "It doesn't matter," I responded finally. I wasn't about to spill my guts to Cee Cee, especially because I hadn't mentioned anything to Paul. Cee Cee had no idea what my 'new job' entailed. I had let her continue to presume I was still typing police reports.

I found myself wishing, not for the first time, that I had remained at my old job. Then maybe I wouldn't be contemplating issues like being followed in a shopping mall.

Cee Cee clearly wasn't satisfied by my answer, but she took one look at my face and dropped it.

We exited the bathroom slowly, casting wary glances, but Michael was no where to be seen. I still felt jittery, and Cee Cee obviously could tell, because she mumbled "I guess that's enough shopping," and pulled me back to the car park.

I asked her to drop me off at Paul's house, which she did grudgingly. Cee Cee had tried pumping me for more information while she was driving, and she had even threatened to drive the car into a passing truck, until I pointed out she wouldn't, on account of the fact she loved her car, didn't want to be charged for manslaughter if she succeeded in killing me, and could possibly kill herself and never get to elope with her honey.

She'd just glared at me in response.

I propelled myself into Paul's arms the moment he opened his front door. Things may not have been the best between us right now, but at the moment I didn't care. I needed the security, needed to feel like there was somebody there for me.

Paul held me for a few moments, and pulled away.

"What's wrong Suze?"

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter."

His face darkened, and I knew he was thinking about the Rebecca DeMirosso case. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. What could be so bad that you can't tell me?"

"I can't, because I _can not_. I don't want you getting involved, I don't want that happening. Okay?"

Some of the anger left over from the night before had obviously filtered back into Paul, because he gripped my shoulders and stared me down with his blue eyes. I didn't relent; I stared back defiantly. If there was one promise I was going to keep, it was that I wouldn't tell him.

"Tell me."

I didn't tell him. I didn't tell him because, when I saw Michael today, I realised something—I had more than one motive. Sure, I didn't want Paul getting involved. But it was also because, if I told him the truth, I would be admitting something else, something I could barely admit to myself—that I was scared. I was running, and I was hiding, from something I'd accidentally uncovered. I didn't want anything to do with it, and the mess was too big to clean alone, and I needed help, and I wouldn't ask for help because I didn't want my problems to be known…because then they would know I wasn't doing anything to fix my situation. It was a catch twenty-two, all twisted together by my own selfish motives.

When I was ten I read 'Chicken Licken' for the first time. I remember thinking that Chicken Licken was selfish and cowardly, creating a mess and then running from it. I remember thinking that the morale of the story was that cowards live longer, but at least heroes had a clear conscience.

Things aren't always so black and white when it's personal.

Instead, I took his hands in my own, and looked at him squarely in the eyes. "Paul, why don't you think I'm telling you, even after all your countless forms of persuasion?"

"Because you're Susannah Simon, who thinks she doesn't need anyone."

"Exactly. Now, embrace that, and get over it," I snapped.

He scowled. "That's how it's always been, and I know that, but the thing is I don't want you to think like that anymore. These past few months…I thought you would have come to terms by now that you're not by yourself anymore. You have me. You always have."

My shoulder sank. He was telling the truth, as usual. But…I just _couldn't_ do it. I was too selfish.

"I know I have you, Paul. And I love that fact. I just wish I could understand that I'm helping you by not letting you in on this. I don't need the worry." I looked up at him pitifully. I remember he had once said that if I looked at him a certain way, he couldn't deny me anything. I hoped this was still true. "Please? Just drop it. I promise if I get in too deep, I'll let you know. We're a team, but you have to let me sort out my own problems sometimes."

Paul just stared at me for a long, long time. He must have seen something in my face that convinced him of my sincerity, because he sighed. "Fine," he said in a sharp voice. "As long as you promise that you will come to me if things get too bad, because if you get yourself hurt, I'll kill you."

I rolled my eyes and smiled. "Thank you for trusting me on this. It means a lot."

His eyes softened, and he pushed some hair out of my face. "God help us all if you'll ever stop being so stubborn." Then he leant down and gently kissed me. I responded, but was secretly apologising to him at the same time, for using his trust against him, for not being the person he thought I was, for being so selfish and being okay with it.

I hoped the guilt would eventually fade, like everything else.

**AUGUST 2007**

It was Friday night, and I was faced with an incredibly tough decision, a life changing situation. One of those moments that you know will be one of the biggest of your life.

Vicki, Cee Cee and I all looked at the screen, trying to decide which movie to see.

"Superbad?" I suggested lamely, with not a lot of heart. I didn't really want to see it, but, when with another, you must keep all options open.

Vicki wrinkled her nose. "Nah. Bourne Ultimatum?"

I shook my head. "Nope. As much as I love Matt Damon, I'd say no. My life is too nuts at the moment to care about saving the world." I scanned further down. "Rush Hour?"

"No way. Adam isn't here, so this is the one night I don't have to watch a martial arts movie," Cee Cee declared. "What about Hot Rod?"

"What is Hot Rod about?" Vicki asked her.

"Erm…a rod that is hot? How would I know?

I rolled my eyes. "Stardust?"

Vicki looked mildly interested. "Any hot guys?"

"Does it matter?"

"To me, yes. Just because you two are taken doesn't mean I'm quietly content being single."

Cee Cee just shrugged. "It's got Clare Danes in it. I've loved her since Romeo and Juliet."

"Done."

After we emerged, I threw the empty cup and popcorn box in the bin. Vicki was waxing poetic over one of the characters to Cee Cee—"…and then he turned out to be GAY…"—and I was trying to listen when a chill ran down my spine. I looked around the lobby.

Seated on one of the waiting chairs was Michael, staring me down. Only instead of approaching me, he stood and exited, ruining my night in exactly five seconds.

I swallowed, trying to steady my racing heart. I had the urge to pursue him, but I couldn't. Not with Vicki and Cee Cee standing there, still on a high from the film. I wouldn't be able to shake them off with a semi-convincing excuse in time to track him. Next time, I promised myself. Next time I saw him I was going to chase him down and then…

And then…what? Michael scared the hell out of me. But I was also a little tired of looking over my shoulder. Maybe if I confronted him, he'd realise I wasn't an easy target. Eventually. For now, I decided to concentrate on the sensitive parts of a male, so when I found Michael again I could easily pinpoint each and every one and attack them so hard, he'll be on his knees BEGGING me for mercy.

I used to be a woman of action, but the task force had turned me soft. Staying that way would get me in trouble. Big trouble.

A thump was followed by the rattling of chains, and my own heaving breath. I wiped my forehead with my arm, focusing on my friend Tom, and hitting the bag as it slowed. This punch was followed by nine others, one after the other. Then I rested, as Tom stopped swinging.

Ever since Paul had introduced me to Tom, I had become determined to turn my pitiful punches into something powerful, even adding a few kicks when I felt confident. Paul had no problem with letting me use the room, even when he wasn't there. I was trying to build up stamina; I began again, building up to twenty punches for each arm, and then counting backwards. I wasn't planning on stopping, but my arms had other ideas. I had just reached sixteen when a burst of pain shot through my right arm, up to my shoulder. I gasped and stepped back, taking off my glove and cradling my arm with my left hand.

I suppose I shouldn't have gone for twenty. In the midst of trying to reclaim the glory of my high school fitness days, I had forgotten that although mentally I was ready, my body wasn't. My breathing slowed and the pain receded a little, just a soft throbbing around the joints. I took off my other glove and placed them on the table to the side, walking into the kitchen for an icepack.

I jammed balanced the icepack on my shoulder and sat on the bench. The emotions that gripped me every time I got near Tom were rather telling; I was seized with an anger—a need to take things out on something without consequence. I was feeling boxed in by my situation, and this was the result.

It was the old saying: be careful what you wish for. I had wanted the job at the task force so bad, I would have done anything to get it. When Paul had seized the opportunity instead, I had been furious. I now knew that Paul had wanted it just as bad, and _had_ done anything to get it. I should have realised at the time it was Paul, and it's in his DNA to win. Not exactly an appealing character trait, but he was what he was.

He had gone behind my back to get what he wanted. At the time I couldn't contemplate how one would justify doing such a thing. But I was doing the same thing, lying to him outright so I wouldn't look bad. I was competing, just like he was, and it was too late to change my course, and I hated myself for it. If I took it all back, he would know I'd been dishonest…and that would cause irreparable damage, considering our history.

After icing my shoulder for twenty minutes, I returned the pack to the freezer, and walked upstairs to the bathroom. I turned the tap until the water ran warm, putting my hands underneath the stream to defrost them. Afterwards, I looked up at my reflection. I had pulled my hair back into a ponytail before my workout; now there were little strands of hair hanging around my face everywhere. I pulled the elastic band out and opened up the cabinet that the mirror was attached to, and grabbed my brush.

I worked out the tangles and then rinsed my face with water. Looking in the reflection, I saw a different person peeking out from behind the towel, staring back at me. I wonder how many times in your life you look into the mirror and hate the person you see there, wonder how things went so wrong and wonder how they let things go astray in the first place.

I imagined the person would say, "I don't know", because if they knew, then surely they'd try to fix it.

My eyes went to my hair, now freed, falling around my face, neither straight nor wavy. Funny how, before Michael Hindler, my biggest problem was whether to straighten or curl it in the morning.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

**PRESENT TIME**

I flung open the front door and bowed my head against the immediate downpour of rain. It hadn't eased since I'd first walked inside, but instead grown heavier. The rain was freezing, and each drop stung my skin.

The bathrobe I was wearing provided little to no protection at all. I decided then and there that I'd never wear a bathrobe again. Whenever I did, something bad or stupid always seemed to happen. In this case, I had decided to run outside in the freezing rain, which is never a good option.

I stopped momentarily at the top of the stairs leading to the front door. They were wider than normal stairs, so I had to carefully time my assent, otherwise I'd end up tripping over myself.

Not especially dignified after a somewhat dramatic exit.

Once I had finally hobbled down to the street, I coughed and put my hands over my face. I was back to where I'd started, only wet. I should have gone with my gut instinct and stayed away. Going to Paul's had been a complete waste of time…of tears. I'd given up crying that hard in a long time.

When I was first put in the institution, I'd cried myself to sleep every night for the first few months. My sobs had been drowned out by all the moans and cries of those around me. Then came the realisation that no amount of tears would change my situation, and I'd barely shed a tear since.

And now here I was.

But now to face the current problem: where the hell was I going to go?

I suppose there was always my younger stepbrother David. Even after my mother had married Andy, he had always been the nicest to me. When the yearly visits occurred, I had never felt like a burden to him. He would be the easiest one to convince. Jake, apart from always appearing stoned, also treated me with respect. After that…

Cee Cee and Adam immediately sprang to mind, but I shoved that idea away. I wouldn't be able to travel to the place I sent them to hide from Michael; it wasn't in the same country. It wasn't even in the same hemisphere, so they weren't a consideration.

David and Jake were. I'd just have to find out where, exactly, they were staying.

"Suze!"

I stopped. I turned, to see Paul standing on the steps, ignorant of the torrential rain saturating the both of us. I, however, was aware of the freezing sensations I was feeling all over my fingers and toes. They felt like they were going numb. My skin felt extremely sensitive, but at the same time I felt detached, as if it was happening to someone else.

I tried to tell him to go away, to return to the house, to just…leave me alone. But I couldn't. My vocal chords felt frozen, too.

"We need to sort things out."

I shook my head, my teeth chattering. I wrapped my arms around myself and started to walk backwards, keeping my eyes glued on him.

"SIMON!"

Paul's voice cut through the downpour. I could barely move, couldn't speak. There was something grabbing at my chest, squeezing my lungs. It almost ached to breathe. I walked backwards faster, trying to get my blood pumping again. I turned around and began running down the street again, attempting to keep my balance. My legs were refusing to function properly. I was shivering beyond belief and I was trying desperately to warm myself up.

I was hit with a wave of dizziness, and spots dotted my vision. I gasped, but it was a fruitless attempt; the dizziness had been a warning that I wasn't breathing properly, that my body was having a difficult time functioning. I coughed, holding my head and swaying on my feet.

"Come on," I heard Paul's voice behind me. Great.

"Just go away," I whispered. I shook my head, and tried to walk amidst the spinning. And then my vision went dark, and I felt my legs give way underneath me.

I don't know how I long I was out. It seemed like years, but in reality it was probably less than an hour. All I know is, when I did come around, I was warm. I never wanted to move. It took me a few minutes, once consciousness flooded in, for everything to connect and for my sluggish mind to work properly. The one thing I was mostly concentrating on was how I'd gotten so warm, when, in my last memory, I'd been mind-numbingly cold. Where was I?

I opened my eyes slowly. The first thing I saw was black. I recoiled a little, noticing it was black leather. Wait…

Slowly I sat up. It didn't take a genius to figure out where I was. I had only just been there, after all. Paul's lounge room.

I looked around, and jumped when I saw Paul leaning up against the couch I was lying on with his back to me, sitting on the floor. I jumped again when I realised that, underneath the blanket wrapped like a cocoon around me…I was practically naked.

Oh, for goodness sake.

"What the hell?" I yelped.

Paul whipped around, and relief filtered into his face. Too late, I noticed that he'd been holding something, something he hid from view so stealthily, I might have imagined it. "God…you're awake."

I glared at him. "Awake and _naked_." I said, quickly adding, "Sort of."

He tipped his head sideways and studied me. "Suze, you fainted out in the rain. I took your clothes off and put the blanket around you so you wouldn't get sick. Survival 101."

Oh jeez. Then again, it's not like it's anything he hasn't seen before.

I sank back into the couch, feeling stupid. "Oh." I shrugged and swallowed my pride. "Well. Thanks, then." My voice trailed off awkwardly. "What were you looking at?"

Paul raised his eyebrows, like I had asked an incredibly stupid question. "My hands," he held them up for me to see. "I've always considered being a hand model, think I should go for it?"

That didn't merit a reply from me, I decided. I tried to sit up, only the blanket was so tight I could barely move.

"Here," he went to help me, but I pulled back.

"No. Don't…don't touch me."

Paul sighed. "Suze, I'm only going to help you up."

Hmm. No more slurring for Paul. Obviously his run in the rain had sobered him up quite a bit. I let him help me up, then hobbled away and began loosening the folds. I felt like human sushi. When it was no longer quite as restrictive, I sat back down, feeling a little weak, but that wasn't my concern: I needed to leave. To where, I wasn't sure, but I figured dry clothes and an umbrella would make my next foray outside a little more successful.

I was about to stand up, when my stomach let out a grumble.

Paul looked a little guilty. "Do you want something to eat?"

"No."

Paul saw through my lie, and stood up. "Don't go anywhere. We still have to talk. And you're eating something. No offence…but you need it."

I rolled my eyes, but let him fix me something. I took the bowl of hot potato chips he offered a few minutes later, but I picked at it more than ate them. There was a time I used to be passionate about food, but now I just didn't care. I crossed my legs and leant back into the couch, the blanket still wrapped around me. "Would Marcia have any other clothes that would fit?"

Paul dropped the chip he'd been about to eat, like he'd lost his appetite. He stood, however, and returned a few moments later with a bundle of clothes in his fist. I looked at the short dress in distaste. He noticed, and tossed it over his shoulder. I took the rest and thanked him, moving upstairs and slipping on a pair of jeans and a jacket. It was a weird sensation, wearing normal clothes, but I guess it was going to be another thing to get used to again.

When I returned, he was still standing.

"I should go."

"Why?" he asked quickly.

I sighed. "I've intruded enough as it is. My being here isn't doing either of us any good, and you know it."

Paul looked at the floor. "I…you weren't the reason I was drinking."

I was about to deny that, when I remembered how he had been clutching a bottle when I'd first arrived. But my presence hadn't stopped him from drinking either, and I told him this.

"Yeah, but…"

"I thank you for your hospitality, but I have to get out of here."

I moved past him, but his arm shot out and stopped me. "I didn't mean it when I said for you to go before. You can stay. Come on, Suze."

"I'm going," I replied firmly, and ducked under his arm. Paul obviously wasn't giving up, because he grabbed my shoulder and forced me to face him.

"Please, stay the night. Where are you going to go at four in the morning? And it's still raining."

Denying him was what I wanted to do, but I couldn't find the words. He was giving me one of the saddest looks I'd ever seen. I couldn't figure out why, but I decided that staying was probably the smartest course of action for now. As much as I hated to admit it, Paul's argument reeked of logic—where, exactly, _could_ I go at the moment?

"Fine," I agreed. "But I am going in the morning."

Somehow, I managed a few hours sleep. The difference between the bed I was sleeping in and the cot at the institution was like comparing bricks to clouds. I yawned and sat up, marvelling at how different it felt to wake in a bed in a room that didn't have barred windows and concrete walls. I lay there for a while, just luxuriating in the fact I wasn't going to be roused by a warden and I was operating on my own time. Eventually I moved downstairs. The house was still and quiet; Paul was obviously still sleeping. I wandered into the lounge room, and found the reds and blacks were not quite as stark in the daylight. They made the room look almost inviting.

I blinked sleepily, and my eyes landed on the television. I hadn't watched one in so long. I grabbed the remote and managed to turn it on, and the morning news hit me in the face like cold water, proving that you can be locked up for four years, but daytime television will never change.

The grave-faced reporter was talking about how a truck had driven off a bridge and had landed on the highway below. No casualties.

I sat back and watched, barely taking it in, until I found myself staring at my picture…and a very unflattering one, at that. The one they used for my profile at the institute. This kind of drew my attention.

The newsreader was telling the world how two patients had escaped from a medical centre the night before during a momentary lapse in security, and that the police were combing the city looking for the remaining fugitive…and if only the people of the city could assist them by keeping an eye out also.

She went on to describe how we were not classified as dangerous but should be treated with caution, but the only thing that I could focus on was 'remaining fugitive'. As in, _only one person_. To answer my question, she brightly informed the audience that one had been reclaimed the night before, attempting to steal food from a local convenience store.

Henrietta.

Which meant that, since they'd found her, the entire spotlight was on me. I'd never been a fugitive before, but I knew that staying put wasn't a smart idea.

I _definitely_ couldn't stay here anymore.


	22. Chapter TwentyOne

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**AUGUST 2007**

I sat at the end of the couch, poring over the same documents I'd had since the beginning, as if expecting them to change. I was currently operating on borrowed time, a fact I was well aware of; they'd require answers at the task force soon, answers I didn't have. It all came down to Michael, except—as his chasing me through a shopping mall had demonstrated—I wouldn't be having a civil conversation with him anytime soon.

I should have investigated him with more caution.

A sharp gust of windy, icy cold and demanding, circled around me, throwing my hair around my shoulders and causing me to shudder.

I had a feeling I knew who it was. I turned and looked over my shoulder.

Standing in the middle of my lounge room was Rebecca DeMirosso.

"About time," she muttered, rolling her brown eyes. Her dark brown hair was swept to one side in a plait; she looked great—as great as you can be when you're a dead reflection of your former self, that is. Rebecca didn't look at all like she had died from the hands of a psychotic man, who had decided to relocate her digestive system while she was still alive.

"I've been busy," I replied. "I tried looking for you weeks ago." My tone was almost accusatory.

"I'm not psychic. I didn't get the memo," she said. Her gaze darted to the folder on the coffee table. "You shouldn't have taken it. If you had of listened to me, you wouldn't be in this situation right now."

I thought back to how I had felt her presence when I was choosing the case. At the time I had thought it was her soul, pushing me on to avenge her death. Obviously not.

"So what should I do now, Rebecca?"

She looked at me with a touch of sympathy. "Be careful. He's looking for you, and he's going to find you. I always took his dedication for passion, but…you know. It's obsession. He thought he'd gotten away with it two years ago. He wants to keep it that way."

If appearing in public wherever I went counted as obsessed, he had it in spades.

"But if I don't bring him to justice, you'll never be able to move on. You can't be okay, hanging in limbo like this. Don't you want absolution?"

"I've done it for two years now. And it's not worth it if I get someone else killed."

I heard the front door slam, and my mother walked down the hallway, dropping bags off on the kitchen bench and looking around. I'd forgotten she was visiting, and she was calling my name. I didn't have much time.

"I've gotta go," I told Rebecca.

Her hand shot out and she grabbed my arm. "Go to the police. Get them to protect you."

I was looking over my shoulder. My mother was coming down the hallway, calling my name. Soon she would see me standing here, talking to nothing. "And tell them, what? A dead woman told me to?"

Rebecca flinched. "Well, if you don't want to listen to me, fine. But get help from someone, or you'll be dead in a matter of weeks."

With that cheerful prediction, I strode over to the doorway, heading my mother off with a cheerful smile.

She exhaled gustily, shaking her head. "You could have answered me, you know! I kept calling for you."

"Sorry, I was distracted. I'm just working a lot, that's all." I gave a forced yawn. "Is it time for lunch, already?"

I could still feel Rebecca there, watching. With a sigh I grabbed the folder and stuffed it under the table.

Lunch was the usual affair when I was with my mother. We went to an Italian restaurant, and we'd no sooner sat down and she was requesting a basket of garlic bread and enquiring about the wine choices. She took her dining experiences very seriously, and she had no respect for people who weren't passionate about food.

"Passion equals interest," she told me time and time again as I was growing up. "Have you ever met an interesting person who didn't care about food? I suppose models are a laughing riot at dinner parties, drinking water out of a plastic bottle and vomiting it up later."

She's not entirely politically correct, either.

The waiter walked away the minute he'd finished talking, looking relieved to escape, even if only for a few minutes. My mother grabbed a slice of bread and cut it into pieces on her plate, so she could eat each bite without causing a mess.

We talked about the usual topics that you talk to your mother about: work, friends, and other members of the family. She told me about how Andy was thinking of saving up to go overseas "for a second honeymoon, sweetie," and if I could please keep an eye on the house while they were away?

"But Jake still lives with you. Can't he do it?"

She shook her head. "Don't think I haven't forgotten the time we went away for our first honeymoon. Jake and Brad's party-boys broke the vase your grandmother gave to me, and I haven't seen the afghan I had on the couch since. What they would have done with that, I fear to imagine."

Imagine she might; I _knew_. I had seen one of Jake's friends running naked down the street, the afghan tied around his neck like a cape.

"It was just one little party. Jake is older now."

"I found vomit in the pool. It's not happening. Please?"

I agreed.

"And how is Dominic?"

Awkward.

"We broke up," I said without emotion, taking a sip of wine.

Her face pulled down unhappily. "What happened?"

"We just weren't working out."

She nodded. "That happens, I suppose. So you're single, for now?"

I might just point out I hadn't mentioned I was dating Paul. It was probably a good time to mention it though. It's just…I knew what she was going to say. She didn't disappoint.

"He may be good looking but…have you _thought_ about this, Suze? I know his mother, and they can both have the same selfish disposition."

"I've known him forever. He _does_ have a good side."

"I don't doubt it, honey. I know he's charming. The day he came back into town, and he visited with his mother, he had me giggling like a school girl in five minutes."

I was twisting my hands in my lap. "I know he can be insufferable. Don't worry, I'm receiving it on all sides…but he _is_ good to me. We're just so similar. Cee Cee said we'd either love each other or kill each other."

"How does Cee Cee feel about this?"

"She…accepted it. I'm hoping you will too."

Our plates of steaming pasta arrived, giving my mother a few moments to get it together. Finally, she smiled. "I'll get used to it. I'm happy for you. And at least I'll know my grandkids will be attractive."

I choked on my fettuccini.

I'd grown accustomed to looking around for Michael whenever I was in public, but thankfully my traditional dinner and movie combo with Paul went unmarred by any stalker activity. The car ride home, however, contained a completely different evil.

"This is rap," I pointed accusingly to the stereo between us. Paul looked at me blankly. "This is _rap_," I gave the word a little more emphasis, in case he was missing my point.

Paul shrugged. "Haven't you heard? It's cool." I changed the station. More rap. "Told you," he grinned.

"But you _hate_ rap."

"_You're_ the one who hates rap. I don't like to confine myself musically."

"Bullshit. You nearly wept tears of blood when I put James Blunt on."

"That's because it was _James Blunt_. I don't know any male who doesn't bleed when his name is mentioned."

"It's better than this shit."

"Hey," Paul looked very stern. "_Not_ shit."

"It's shit."

"Not shit."

"You need a musical intervention."

"Your iPod needs a musical intervention. Some of your artists are questionable."

"Don't ever look through someone's iPod. That's like…peeking into their underwear drawer."

"I _like_ your underwear drawer. I do not like your playlists."

"I don't like your face."

Paul grinned. "The face is perfect. Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Simon."

"Bling and a gangster cap wouldn't look good on you, either."

"Which is exactly why I don't wear them."

We pulled into my driveway, and Paul turned the engine off. I raised my eyebrows. "I didn't invite you in."

"Then I'll just come in through the kitchen window. Either way, you're putting up with me tonight."

I'd actually been counting on it, but I didn't tell him that. I was starting to depend on his presence; there was something about Paul that made you feel secure and safe all the time. When he said things would work out, you believed him. You never could question it, because he said it all with so much confidence. It had always been like that.

I wanted to talk, really talk, but I couldn't say anything that I wanted to, so I sat in silence with him, listening to his heart beat underneath my ear. When he hugged me a little tighter, I turned my head and kissed him underneath his jaw. When a little noise of approval escaped him, I did it again. He leant down and kissed me softly, moving from my lips to my jaw, then to just under my ear.

And then it came out of nowhere.

"Move in with me?" he whispered against my neck. The feeling of his lips was so thrilling; it took a little while for me to register what he'd said. And when it finally did hit me, well…

"What?" I squeaked.

Paul stopped, and drew his head back so he could look at me squarely in the eyes. "Move in with me, Preston?" Then he grinned. "I know you want to."

I rolled my eyes. "Do you?" I mocked him.

He grinned and moved back to my neck, doing all sorts of lovely things…and obviously trying to convince me to take up residence with him. As if I needed convincing.

But I let him suffer a little.

"Come on…please?" he said against my neck, then started moving down, kissing along my collarbone.

"Hmm…okay." I felt him grin in accomplishment against my chest. "But on one condition."

He lifted his head a little. "And what would that be? Majority of the closet space?"

I smiled coyly and tapped my bottom lip.

And he obliged, all too well.


	23. Chapter TwentyTwo

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**PRESENT TIME**

I tiptoed upstairs in a hurry to the room I had slept in, finding a bag in one of the cupboards and filling it with some of Marcia's clothes I found in one of the drawers. I stopped momentarily to feel bad about the fact I was stealing clothing, even if it was from a person I didn't like. I figured they were probably old clothes anyway; the clothing she would miss was most likely stored in Marcia and Paul's bedroom.

Marcia and Paul's bedroom.

That sentence just sounded wrong to my ears, even though I'd had a few years to get used to the idea. I'd been in the institution just over a year when Marcia came to tell me the good news. It had made me sick to my core at the time…and it still did.

In the grand scheme of things, Marcia was probably better suited to Paul. She was so consumed with her own circumstance, she would know when problems were expanding into chaos, and she would fix it.

Unlike me, a natural disaster on two legs.

After packing enough clothes for a few days, I had to attempt to at least change my appearance a little so I would blend in. I moved to the bathroom and rifled through the drawers, finding an endless supply of makeup, scissors and nail polish. I also found something else: a pair of my old sunglasses, amongst Marcia's things. She'd been wearing my old Dior ones—that I had saved like a saint to afford—as if I had died. What an oaf. I grabbed them and stowed them into the bag as well.

Armed with scissors and looking critically into the mirror, I decided I needed to cut my hair to my shoulders. It was shining brightly thanks to being washed, and the volume increased as I reduced the length, hacking as best as I could until my hair was in a choppy bob. I used some products to smooth it down until it looked the best it had been in years. I would miss my long hair and the protective curtain it provided around my face, but I didn't need it anymore.

I took care applying my makeup so it hid the purple shadows under my eyes. I drew on eyeliner, and added blush and mascara until I resembled my former self. I took a deep breath, and looked at myself for some time. I felt refreshed and looked healthier now that I had something to hide my flaws; I looked like I had just come back from vacation.

I looked normal.

I grabbed the bag, making sure to erase all evidence of my existence before I slunk back down the stairs. The coast was clear. I gently set the bag down on the kitchen bench, and slowly opened up the food cupboard. I was still looking for something edible that I could take with me when I heard a slight shuffle. I spun on my heel and took in the sight of Paul, looking ill and tired.

"What are you doing?" he asked. His voice was scratchy and hoarse from both sleep and his hangover.

"You look like shit," I offered, and turned around, grabbing a loaf of bread.

He gave me something between a smirk and a grimace, rubbing his eyes profusely, and repeating his question.

I shrugged, walking over to the bench and setting everything down on it, pushing the hair out of my eyes. "Making myself something to eat and then getting out of here. I'm going to try and find out where David is staying these days. I'll probably crash over there until I can figure out my next move.

Paul shuffled over to the medicine cabinet. "I did say you could stay. There's no rush…"

"And _I_ said I was leaving in the morning, as in _now_."

He filled up a glass, dropped some aspirin into the water, and leant against the adjacent bench, just looking at me.

After a few moments, I shot him a glance. "What?"

"You cut your hair."

"I'll be less recognisable this way."

"I liked it longer."

I shrugged.

"Do you have any kind of plan at all?" he asked matter-of-factly. He sounded so much like the Paul I remembered that any retort I had prepared died on my tongue. I didn't have a plan, not really. I had no job. No money. No house. No identity that I could safely use. So I did something the Suze from four years ago never would have done. I told him exactly what was on my mind.

Paul's response to this was…nothing.

I didn't bother stopping. "Anyway, I don't really have a choice. We've already gone over this—I can't stay, because, sooner or later, Maria will-"

"-Marcia-"

"-be back and…well, I'm pushing my luck staying here any longer. She could waltz through the front door right now and see me standing here in your kitchen, dressed in her clothes." I faced him and raised my eyebrow. "I mean, if it was any other woman, she'd freak out anyway, but because I'm Suze, who, up until yesterday had permanent residence in her place of employment, I don't even think _scandalised_ would cover her reaction. And," I finished, "you're breaking the law by simply keeping me here."

Paul took another sip from the glass he was holding, as if we were talking about the weather instead of my precarious situation. "Honestly? Marcia shouldn't really be a worry for you."

"And what about the law? Or are you above that now?"

He smirked. "I'm worried even less about that."

"Right. Well, _I_ am worried. And I guess that'll be the biggest difference between us that just won't change," I said, wrapping my food and putting everything away.

"What difference?" Paul drawled, humouring me.

I shut the cupboard door. "I always follow the rules…you always try to bend them. Which is why I ended up in there," I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at nothing in particular, "and you still managed to live the life of luxury. You kept the house, you got the wife…I'm still yet to see kids, but I guess we're still young, right?"

He was biting the inside of his mouth, but he didn't respond to my jab. I just decided to drop it. I wasn't in the mood—nor had it been my intention in the first place—to stir him up.

"You always follow the rules, do you Simon?" Paul's words were quiet, but accusatory.

I blinked. "Yes," I replied with certainty.

"Well, I have it on good authority that you didn't, especially when it came to me. And you still don't."

Indignation rose. "You're talking crazy."

Paul pushed himself away from the counter, and started walking over towards me. It kind of scared me. He had this sort of swagger that made you stop in your tracks, powerless to move. He managed to back me into the cupboard door. He was glaring at me. As freaked out as I was, I couldn't pull away. I was entranced at how his eyes were changing, growing harder and angrier.

"Let's review this, then. You lied to me about the case, multiple times. I distinctly remember you looking me right in the eyes and bullshitting your little heart out. You were the one lying, but then again I was the one who believed you, so who is really the hero in this situation?" He raised his eyebrows at my stunned expression. "What? You seem surprised by what I've said. But, you see, you were the one who did it all. I'm just merely…recalling."

The bad thing was…he was telling the truth.

I swallowed, and it was only then that I realised he had pushed me right up against the door, reminiscent of the old days. I tore my eyes from him, looking at the floor. "I don't have to listen to this. I could explain myself, but I won't be able to if you're like this. You're getting weird on me again."

Paul smirked, but he didn't release me. "I don't think it's me getting weird, it's you. Until we started talking about this, you were almost comfortable being around me again."

"I don't understand why we need to talk about this now. I mean, can't you wait until I pick myself back up before you start interrogating me about the past?"

"I want to talk about it now."

I set my jaw. "What, just like we did last night? That ended real well, that did."

He closed his eyes like he'd rather forget. No shit. "I just want you to take some responsibility for your actions for once."

"You think I haven't? I'm the one who has been locked up!"

"You may have been locked up, but you're still the one pointing fingers."

The breath caught in my throat, and all words died on my tongue. Instead of fighting back, I slithered out from underneath him and made haste to the lounge room. I needed to find a phone book. I went to the coffee table in the next room and opened up the first drawer. Magazines. I closed it and opened up the second.

"Will you stop looking through there for a second?" Paul asked irritably, but it was too late. I'd already found it.

I pushed aside a piece of paper covering most of it, and picked it up. I couldn't believe he still had it…

"What's this?" I asked, my voice wavering.

Paul ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Then he just shook his head.

"You were looking at this last night?" I stated the question more than asked.

I waited for him to object, but it didn't happen.

"Why?"

He shrugged. Shrugged at the picture of both of us, the one Jesse had returned to me a few days ago at the mental institution.

I guess I got my answer right then.

I looked down at my feet and dropped the photo on the coffee table, opening up the last drawer and finding what I was looking for. Once I had found Jake in the book, I memorised the digits and snapped it shut, walking towards the kitchen quickly.

"…Suze, come on."

"I'm going," I said quietly, steadily, walking past him and flinging the bag over my shoulder. I couldn't stay. Not when I knew that, somewhere, there was still a little feeling for me. I couldn't afford for that to surface, because if it did…

Talk about smashing some morals to bits.

Paul grabbed my shoulder and slammed me into the hallway wall, harder than he probably intended. I still widened my eyes at him in surprise. "Get your hands off me," I tried to say confidently, but it came out as a muddled mess. "Marcia could come home at any moment-"

"Marcia's not coming home Suze!" Paul said exasperatedly. "Use your brain."

"What?"

"Why do you think she hasn't come back? Marcia has never been one to put in overtime at the hospital, no matter what was going on."

That would explain why all her clothes were in the spare bedroom. I'd presumed she was a clothes nazi and needed the extra space, but…

They were splitting up? Oh, _god_.

Something inside my head screamed for me to run out whilst I still had the chance.

"Then where is she?"

Paul moved closer, his mouth hovering dangerously close to my own. "Not here."

I could see that. I needed to leave. Getting out of this situation would be a STELLAR idea.

I tried to shift out from underneath him, but he just pressed into me harder. I was feeling extremely uncomfortable. Not just because of the fact Paul was a closer than I wanted him to be, but physically…_ow_.

"Paul…you're hurting me…" I managed to choke out, squirming like a worm on a hook.

He instantly looked down and withdrew a little, but only enough for me to breathe properly again.

I was breathing harder than normal, the closeness of him really getting to me. The length of his body pressing up against my own made my body cry out. I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't bridge the distance between us. It wasn't ethical. It wouldn't be smart.

I just couldn't do it, period.

A long time ago I had vowed to become more mature. And, well, kissing Paul? Not showing much maturity, especially because of my current situation. I wouldn't gain any points for self-restraint, either.

But I guess I wasn't the only one battling after all.

Before I could think anymore, Paul's hands were cupping my cheeks and his lips were on my own. I hadn't done anything to do it, either. He'd leant down, because he had wanted to.

At first, euphoria was the only thing on my mind. The familiarity of his lips was seeping it, and joy filled me in a way I hadn't felt in years. I reciprocated without having to think about it. It had just been so long, feeling only lonely despair.

Then my mind switched on again.

Paul was only doing this because I was here, because Marcia wasn't. I knew there was a very real possibility that, somewhere inside him, there was still some feeling for me. But for this moment, I knew what it really was…was the convenience of it all.

He was alone. Just like me.

I froze, and twisted my head, pushing him away from me. Paul frowned in both annoyance and confusion, looking at my face.

It must have shown what I was thinking. That I was leaving, RIGHT NOW.

"Suze, don't."

I looked at him almost in fear. At what he'd made me feel, once again. How he'd made me forget, even if it was just for a minute.

"I have to go."

But he pressed me up against the wall again, his face deadpan. "I know you just felt something. I know you still feel something for me…I can tell."

I shook my head furiously, half frozen in fear that he was going to kiss me again.

I wouldn't be able to stop, then.

"I…I didn't. I don't-"

"Lying again. Save it," he cut me off in annoyance. "Why can't you just adm-"

I guess he would have finished that sentence if the door hadn't flung open. Marcia walked in, police officers on her tail.

And then it was utter chaos.

I was being dragged somewhere. To where, I couldn't tell. I was still so woozy, I could barely think straight. The only thing I could register was that I was being dragged. My bare feet were sliding across the floor. The floor was smooth…like linoleum. It smelled hygienic.

But where was I? I tried to wrack my brain, trying to think back. Everything was a hazy mess within my sluggish mind, but I forced myself to concentrate. The coolness of the floor was shocking some sort of sense into me. It helped me to focus.

After a few moments, it came to me.

Paul and I in the hallway.

Marcia walking through the front door, with police officers and several wardens right behind her. Her shouting—screaming—words I couldn't make out.

The wardens homing in as I broke away from Paul. The wardens tackling me to the floor.

Something pricking my skin, a sharp stab of pain.

A police officer behind Paul, forcing his hands behind his back, another I could just make out reading him his rights…

I was so confused, I almost welcomed the darkness.

I lethargically lifted my head up. There were two people either side pulling me along, pulling me towards a door. The door looked really familiar. And when I realized why, I began to thrash about like never before, trying to get free.

There was NO WAY I was going back there. ABSOLUTELY NO WAY.

I screamed insults. I hollered in their ears. My fists broke free, and I hit one of the security guards in the face. It was all such a blur…a never-ending blur of shouts and grunts of pain. Then the door opened. Whiteness blinded me.

And then they threw me inside.

I collapsed on the floor, and used my palms to heave me up. As fast as I could, I ran towards the door again.

It slammed shut before I reached it, and I lunged at it, trying to make it move. But it didn't budge in the slightest.

"PLEASE!" I screamed, but I wasn't answered.

Then the sobs claimed me, massive, helpless sobs. Sobs that were enveloped with anger and fear, fearing this place, this prison. Its chains weren't visible, but they held me just as securely. They encased me. Encased me, binding me like nothing else could. Its hold was suffocating.

And I was back where I started.

I slid down the door and continued to pointlessly bang on it with my fists, screaming and choking on sobs. I was crying so hard, the hardest in my life. I could barely breathe.

I couldn't even accept what was happening. I almost expected to wake up again, drenched in cold sweat.

But this wasn't a dream. It was too real to be a dream. The loneliness, the helplessness just seeped into the barred rooms, like smog. I was living in my nightmare again. My hell.

Then again, hell seems like too tame a word. It was worse than hell.

I lay down on the cold floor, just staring at the door. Replaying the finality of the sound of metal slamming shut over and over in my head.

"Please…" I whispered, over and over again. I didn't even know why…it's not like anyone could hear me.

No one ever could.


	24. Chapter TwentyThree

"_Reaching out to the land of the lord  
from the dark in my room.  
Screaming out for the light of the soul  
to be gone from the world that I'm in."_

Gypsy & the Cat: "Sight of a Tear"

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**PRESENT TIME**

When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the wall. It was like everything at Paul's had never happened. Escaping had never happened. All the hopelessness that was there from the past four years was still there. It was almost like returning had simply added to it, instead of granting temporary relief.

I slowly stretched out. I had curled myself up into a ball at the base of my bed with the blankets almost completely covering me. I yawned, sitting up and looking at my reflection in the mirror. My face was red, and my eyes were crusty and bloodshot, coupled with a massive headache. Only some of my eye makeup remained around my eyes; the rest was streaked down my cheeks.

Right on cue, the door opened, and Jesse walked in.

I felt my eyes widen. He…he was still here. I'd presumed he wouldn't be. That had driven me even deeper into my pit of despair, thinking he wouldn't be here. Jesse never made me feel like a freak when he was around.

I guess the surprise must have shown, because he gave me a sad smile and sat on my bed with his back to the double-sided mirror. He was silent; I wondered what he was thinking. Was he regretting helping me escape, considering I hadn't even made it twenty-four hours alone? Or was he unhappy to see me here, to have to continue to deal with me and everything that came with it? He wasn't giving anything away.

I swallowed and leant up against the wall, watching him, waiting for him to speak.

Finally—finally—he coughed, and asked, "So, Susannah, how are you feeling?"

"Like shit," I whispered so softly it was practically inaudible.

He read my lips and nodded in understanding.

"How is Henrietta doing?" I asked. I'd thought about her a lot too…she'd had less hope about the situation than I did, after all.

Jesse's face fell. My head shot up in immediate understanding. "What happened?"

He bit the inside of his lip like he didn't want to say. But I…I needed to hear it. Don't ask me why. I guess I just needed the real conclusion before I jumped to some of my own.

"I'm not allowed to discuss another patient with you."

I shrugged. "I don't care. I want to know."

He dragged his hands through his black hair, and sighed with annoyance. He obviously knew I wasn't going to drop it.

"When she was returned here, we left her until mid-morning. To sleep, and to re-adjust," he went on uncomfortably. "Only, when we finally checked on her, we discovered something not visible from the cameras."

My eyes didn't move from his. "And?"

"Susannah, I really shouldn't tell you-"

"Look," I cut him off. "Don't sugar-coat it, please. I can handle it. Just tell me."

He sighed again. "She…bit her tongue. Intentionally. She lost too much blood and choked, and by the time we found her…"

I finished the sentence off for him. "…she was already gone. That's like tradition here, isn't it?"

He blinked, clearly not following.

"You know," I continued. "Patients committing suicide. Doctors are never there, and they only come when it is too late to do anything about it."

Jesse shuffled uncomfortably, rubbing his eyes. I only noticed then how bloodshot they were. He was tired. I wondered when he had last slept. Had he left at all since I had escaped? "I understand you are upset. And not just about Henrietta," his voice contained an underlying meaning. "But…things might get better. Have hope."

I snorted very rudely. "Right, Jesse. I'm stuck in a mental institution. I got free, then I got caught, and now I'm back. Forgive me if I can't see any HOPE in that."

Jesse got to his feet abruptly. "I'll be back later for an evaluation. You may have your old cell back in seventy-two hours, but I can't promise anything." His words were short, and he couldn't leave fast enough.

The door slammed shut and I winced, berating myself. I had never used to be rude to people, but then again I wasn't who I used to be. This place has definitely changed me. Escaping had shown me just how much.

But if Jesse thought I was going remain optimistic about the future, well…it wasn't going to happen.

Seventy-two hours. Jesse had said I might have gotten my old cell back by then. And for the first time, he'd been exactly right.

It was quite pathetic, but I was looking forward to my old cell again. Despite our lack of freedom in general, the high security cells took away whatever we had left. With my old placement, I had the ability to wander freely during the gaps in my schedule.

Two security guards flanked me on both sides and held my arms securely, shuffling me out of the high security sector and back into the other half of the facility. Watching the bustling of the nurses giving more mind to their manicure than to their patients was a kind of comfort that only comes from a monotonous environment.

Finally, I was looking at the faded numbers '3B' on my door, before it was pulled open and I was pushed inside, the door closing behind me.

They didn't lock it this time, which was the difference.

I sighed and shuffled back over to the mattress that was leaning up against the wall. I pulled it down, and settled it back onto the block. It had been pushed against the wall when they had searched my cell, collecting all my belongings, and finding Henrietta's stolen file, along with my photos.

Both memories sent pangs through me. Henrietta. She'd lost her last bit of hope the minute they'd captured her again, and saw no other option. Just another file that would now have a big red DECEASED stamp on the front page, to be stored in the back of the filing cabinets. Just another statistic.

We didn't matter to those left. We weren't contributing to society, therefore we weren't important. I'm sure if some people in this world had their way we would have been deleted from existence entirely.

Kind of ironic I was thinking this when Marcia paid me a visit.

She didn't knock, not that she ever had. She had only visited me once before, to show me her ring.

I paid her the same amount of courtesy in return by not even acknowledging her presence. I was too busy looking out the window, entranced by the clouds moving past.

Marcia didn't sit, but stood at the base of my bed, looking down at me. That was the difference between Marcia, Davida, and all the other nurses, against a doctor like Jesse. He made sure we didn't feel intimidated, and he tried to act like a friend inquiring a few questions, instead of playing detective to suspect and interrogating us for all our worth.

It also made you wonder why Jesse was wasting his time on a place like this. Didn't the suffering need him elsewhere?

Just thinking about Jesse made my heart heavy with regret. I shouldn't have been sarcastic with him. I should have saved the shortness for people like the woman standing before me.

"What do you want?" I finally asked. I looked up into her eyes, noticing they seemed a little watery and weak.

"Just…what the hell were you doing?" she accused me, her voice cracking mid-sentence. I raised my eyebrow.

"Doing…what?" I crossed my legs and nodded out the window, sounding detached. I wasn't in the mood for her at all. "Looking at the clouds? Not much else to do, honestly, but if you want a real answer I'll say you can stick it-"

She slammed her clipboard against the wall in frustration, cutting me off mid-sentence. "No, bitch. I meant going to Paul. What drove you to do that, you freak?" Marcia was seething.

I shrugged. "I dunno."

"Because do you have _any_ idea how much trouble he is in now, thanks to you?"

I snorted. "Yes, with no help from you. I should be the one asking what drove you to knocking the door down with the authority?"

She set her teeth and didn't respond.

"I saw him getting arrested, Marcia. What did you think would happen if you found me with _anyone_? Of course they'd be charged as an accessory."

"I didn't that that, I…" she was deflating like a balloon.

"What? And exactly HOW did you find me anyway? Random burst of intuition that caused you to charge back home?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why are you so interested?"

"Uh, _you_ are the reason I'm back in here. I'm interested."

Her shoulders slumped. She looked on the verge of spilling her guts when she snapped her mouth shut. "I looked through the pictures you left behind. And…" she stopped for a second, screwing her face up in disgust. "I saw the one of you and Paul. That's when I realised where you would have gone."

Huh. I guess…leaving them behind had been pretty stupid on my part. The nice part of me was feeling a little sympathetic for Marcia's situation, but it was overridden by the larger part of me that just simply didn't care. I hated Marcia.

I clapped sarcastically. "Well, good for you. Now leave me alone."

"No. You and I need to talk."

"We have. Now piss off."

She didn't move, so I did.

I got up and opened up my door, and was prepared to exit when her hand shot out and she slammed the door shut, using quite a bit of strength for a woman so demure.

"There are a few things I don't appreciate in my life. One of them is people who keep one-upping me in my job. Another is freaks like you trying to do the same thing. But the number one thing I absolutely _loathe_?" she hissed, her face very close to mine. Her eyes were dancing with a fury I hadn't seen before. It's like I'd hit a nerve I didn't even know existed. "Are freaks stealing my clothes, my _husband_…those things I _definitely_ won't stand for," she sneered at me, looking at me up and down. "Do the world a favour and follow Henrietta's shining example. No one will miss you."

She pushed me back into the wall and opened the door, slamming it behind her.

I may have hit a nerve within her, but she had done exactly the same thing. I stared at the wall for a very long time, mulling over what she had said.

No one _would_ miss me; that much was true.

What stopped me from contemplating that thought further was a stronger voice, a voice of reason, one I'd had my whole life. I could usually count on it to get me out of the biggest scrapes. It was the voice that had kept me in check for so long.

It was telling me to hold on, if only for a little longer.

I was sitting on one of the tables outside, the wind whipping my hair around, staring off into space, watching the other patients talk closely, or just walk around, looking lost.

One of the patients sidled past me, sneering.

Sam. I'd almost forgotten about her.

She didn't go near me, something I was thankful for. It honestly was no surprise that Michael's sister had ended up in here. They were bred from the same gene pool, both just as psychotic as the other. It had been something his hotshot lawyer had used to get him a ticket into an asylum like this one, as opposed to prison. Thankfully, the jury had decided that Michael had _mens rea_ out the wazoo for the murders to be random acts of insanity, and he had been sentenced to prison.

"Not too popular in here, are you?"

I turned my head and finally noticed a girl sitting about a foot away from me on the bench. She was fairly young, probably no older than twenty. Her brown hair was wrapped in pigtails, which only made her seem younger.

I smiled wryly. Definitely new, she was. I hadn't seen her around before, and it's not like I'd been away all that long. "You could say that. I've managed to get in a few bad books during my stay."

She raised her eyebrows and surveyed the courtyard. "Bad books almost equals death in this place."

"You're not wrong."

She nodded, holding out her hand. "I'm Candace." I just stared at her hand like a foreign object. She seemed to get the hint almost instantly. "Right, figures. That has happened every time. I mean…is there some kind of memo I haven't received yet?"

I smiled a little. "No…but with people here it's just best to keep your distance. Well, most people anyway. You're safe around me. But Sam?" I pointed to her retreating figure. "It might be a good idea to stay away."

"Hmm. Well, you seem pretty normal. What did you do? Stab your boyfriend to death in a fit of rage?"

I laughed a little and shook my head, pointing to a petite blonde sitting next to Freda. "Nope. That was Charlotte."

"Right."

"Well, if it helps…I see dead people," I said in a mock-serious voice.

"Like the movie?" she replied, clearly not believing me. "Well, you don't win points for originality, but anyway…I hit my best friend over the head with a saucepan when she cheated on her boyfriend with the guy I liked. They called it a crime of passion or something. Anyway, my lawyer pled temporary insanity, and now I'm here. The talking cure, they call it?"

"Supposedly."

She shrugged. "Kind of sucked, afterwards, finding out you'd killed your best friend. Wish I could take it back."

I wish I'd taken back the Rebecca DeMirosso case, and taken the body behind the washing machine instead. But then again, a killer wouldn't have been in jail.

We both sat there in silence, just enjoying the sun before we had to go back inside. After a while, some of the wardens came out. Amongst them I saw Jesse walking around, politely rounding up the patients. I especially noticed how his black hair reflected the sunlight against his tanned skin, and how nice it looked.

Which just made me feel even worse.

I made a promise to myself to apologise to him whenever I saw him next. I needed him around; he made me feel like things would eventually be okay. And especially after helping me escape, I owed it to him.

"He's very hot, isn't he?" Candace said. I didn't even have to ask who she was referring to. None of the other wardens really fit the category.

I nodded. "Yeah, he is," I admitted, before looking over at her. Her eyes had gone all starry. Oh dear.

"Hey!" she yelped, waving in his direction. "Hey! Hey warden! Hey! Did you get your a-ward?" I had the feeling I was missing some kind of inside joke. She stopped as soon as she saw my expression, and slumped down. "Shame we're nuts, hey? Coulda had a chance." Candace slapped her knee in disappointment and hopped off the bench, walking inside.

By the time I was rounded up and ushered inside, I was already well on the way to thinking there was a possible ally in that Candace girl.


	25. Chapter TwentyFour

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**SEPTEMBER 2007**

"I still can't believe you have so much stuff. How many pairs of shoes do you need, anyway?"

I looked over my shoulder and smiled sarcastically. "Plenty. Do you think we look _this_ good naturally? I think not."

Paul laughed. Suddenly, I felt two arms go around my waist, and I was pulled backwards onto the bed. Paul rolled over so he was lying on top of me.

"So," he murmured, brushing my hair out of my eyes, "feel like you made the right decision?"

I shrugged. "I dunno…I guess. I mean, I'm only here for the room. The closet is double the size of the one at home," I teased.

"Really," he shot back, his fingers dancing on the hem of my t-shirt. "I thought it was because I was just so desirable…"

"Heck no. You disgust me."

Paul raised an eyebrow. "So I disgust you…which means me doing this has absolutely no effect on you at all?"

And then he proceeded to trace his finger up and down my chest, paying particular attention to _them_. I moaned without thinking, causing him to give a self-satisfied laugh.

"Thought as much."

I lifted my head and kissed him softly, pulling his head down closer.

"I love you," he whispered against my lips.

I froze for a moment, a smile creeping onto my face that I couldn't do anything to stop. I traced a finger down his cheek. "And I love you," I murmured.

We had crossed a line somewhere a long time ago, but I didn't find myself regretting it at all. I trusted Paul, and I knew he felt the same about me. I felt his fingers trailing down my arms, and then darting over to my stomach, tickling the skin there with his fingertips. I shuddered at how he just did it with ease, affecting me, like he wasn't even trying.

I reciprocated, dragging my thumbs down his abdomen, before hooking them under the end of his shirt and pulling it up. I was greeted, once again, with a sight that would never get old. My eyes trailed appreciatively from his abdomen, up his chest, to his eyes. They were piercing and light as always, but they didn't scare me the way they used to. They were warm, with genuine softness I'd grown accustomed to seeing in the past few months.

And apparently, that softness was for me.

Paul smiled, and began kissing my neck.

Which always got me, every time.

"Do you think things will always be like this?" I wondered, my voice partially muffled by his chest. I lifted my head and looked up at him. We'd been lying there in bed for quite a while, just breathing. His arms tightened as he pulled me closer.

Nodding his head, he kissed my forehead. "Naturally. I have you and I'm not letting you go. And yes, Simon," he said as I started laughing, "the pun _was_ intended."

I smiled broadly, and laid my head on his chest again. We were comfortably silent for a little while, Paul running his fingers through my hair while I tried to keep my heartbeat under control. It was still crazy how his every touch sent it racing…

He's good at what he does, I guess.

"God, you're gorgeous," he breathed.

I blushed at the unexpected compliment. "Really?"

Paul nodded, and brushed his hand up against my cheek, his touch impeccably soft. "Yeah, I've always thought that, especially when I came back."

"You sure that wasn't just your teenaged hormones?" I poked my tongue out at him.

I'd been a punk of a kid. My father had died when I was young, and I had spent most of my youth getting into trouble by talking cheques my butt couldn't cash. I remember the day Paul had come back, and thinking that four years had worked in his favour. It had been some time before we realised we had the same ability; I'd been with him on a few occasions I'd seen a ghost, but it had taken a little while to put two and two together.

Paul smiled lazily at me. "Simon, you have no idea. But I've got you now, don't I?"

"Uh-huh." Raising the only hand that wasn't trapped underneath me, I pulled his head down closer to mine and kissed his lips softly. Then, I rested my head against his and breathed deeply. Then, out of nowhere, I said, "Who knew, hey?"

"That this bed would have so much history, you mean?"

I felt my cheeks heat up, remembering the first night. "You kicked me out. I thought I was crap."

Paul shook his head, looking at me seriously. "No, that one was all me. I remember looking at you and thinking-"

"Holy shit, did I seriously just go there?"

"No," he replied, kissing my forehead. "I remember freaking out, because I looked at you and I wanted more. And I knew you didn't."

I didn't deny that, because it was true; it wasn't that I didn't want more. It was that I hadn't allowed myself even the possibility of wanting it. So instead I raised my head, whispered, "I love you," and kissed him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

Paul responded by covering my mouth with his own, demanding and powerful. One of his hands snaked to the back of my neck and his fingers rubbed the skin there, another hand dancing down my shoulder, down my arm, to my hip. He tugged me closer, forcefully, and I shivered.

And then he quickly pulled back, looking at the clock. "Wait…I shouldn't…"

I frowned and removed my arm from his neck. "Why?"

"Work. They called, and I have to come in tonight. I have a free desk, so I'm needed, unlike you," he joked. Just the mention of work made me feel nauseas. I'd been feeding them small bits of information I'd been able to uncover, but nothing really of worth. I had led them to believe that I was on my way to uncovering something big, so they were leaving me alone. It wouldn't be long before they would start demanding results.

Results I couldn't give.

I stroked his cheek. "You don't have to work. Work is so…"

"…Necessary? Yes, it is. Sorry, but I have to."

I groaned, laid my head against his shoulder for a moment and then rolled away from him. He smiled and kissed my cheek. "I'll be back soon. You want me to get you anything?"

"No, just hurry back. I'll be here."

He smirked at that, and kissed me again. I returned it enthusiastically, hoping to distract him. It worked for a little while, until he realised what I was hoping to do. He pulled back again, breathing heavily.

"I seriously have to go."

"I know."

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

I nodded and collapsed against the pillows, watching him hop out of bed and get ready. Once he had finished he gave me another kiss on the cheek and strode out. I sighed as I heard the front door shut, the car door slam, and Paul speed away.

It was an unbelievable feeling, living with Paul. Another milestone. Everything felt right in that moment. I hadn't seen Michael for some time. I was hoping he had given up on me, but I knew that wasn't the case. I'd been avoiding my usual hangouts. He probably had no idea where I had gone, and was trying to pick up my trail again.

Slowly, but surely, I secretly knew that he'd eventually find me.

And kill me, just like he'd promised.


	26. Chapter TwentyFive

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**SEPTEMBER 2007**

As it turns out, I'd been given until the end of the month for results on the Rebecca DeMirosso case.

I'd been sitting at my desk with my head in my hands, when there was a knock on the door. Nicola peeked around the corner.

"Mr Sarpetti and Mr Martin wish to see you."

She was smiling, which meant only one thing: I was dead meat.

I walked towards their office with the same dread as if I was walking to a firing squad. What was I going to say?

Nicola held the door open, ushered me inside, and closed the door behind me. Derek and Tony were both sitting behind the desk, both faces unemotional.

"Please sit, Miss Simon."

I sat in the chair he directed, wanting to fidget under his sharp gaze. "You wished to see me?" I said, proud that my voice sounded even and confident.

"Yes," Derek said. "We were curious to the progress of your case. We noticed you haven't submitted a report in nearly three weeks."

I nodded. "I've been trying really hard to get answers, but this case…it's like it's been wiped clean. I haven't submitted a report because I've had nothing new to report."

"You should have come to us earlier," Tony said, disapproval lacing his voice.

"I know," I agreed. "I didn't want to disappoint you."

Derek had been rifling through a folder, which he then laid on the table. I saw that it was filled with my submitted reports. "I did notice something—in one of your preliminary reports, you stated you had a main suspect: a Mr Michael Hindler. And yet you haven't mentioned him since. What happened?"

I swallowed. "Unfortunately, nothing. I managed to track him down and question him, but he had no new information to give."

Derek turned to Tony, who had been watching me closely. Tony rubbed his jaw, and nodded to Derek. "We asked you in here today to ask you about your case, and we expected honesty. So we would appreciate the truth now," Derek said.

My eyes darted over to Tony, who nodded.

I rubbed my neck, unsure of how to continue. Lying had been my only strategy. What could I tell them? That Michael was stalking me? I had nothing to back up my claims. But it was the only excuse I had.

"Michael…" I responded slowly, pronouncing each word carefully, "he's not the most agreeable human being. He didn't take kindly to my questioning."

"Very few criminals do, Miss Simon."

"He threatened me."

"How?" Tony asked, looking interested.

"Phone calls, following me…"

"Has he actually given you any reason to fear for your life, Miss Simon?" Derek asked.

I thought about that. He hadn't actually said he was going to kill me…but he hadn't ever said he wouldn't, either. He'd definitely hinted to the fact he would go to any lengths to keep me quiet, but that wasn't really the same thing. Only Rebecca had told me to be careful, but she was dead. "I guess…no, no he hasn't."

"Well then," Derek said. "The case is still open, in my eyes. We'll assign another to help you speed up the process—Paul Slater? I trust you two still work well together."

Dread filled me. "Please…I'd prefer if it wasn't Paul."

"Any reason?"

"I'd prefer somebody else."

Derek and Tony shared a look. "We'll assign Vicki Hutchins to your case. We'll expect another report by the end of the week."

I must have looked sick, because Tony asked, "Will that be a problem, Miss Simon?"

I bit my lip and shook my head.

"Partner!" Vicki chirped as she came into my office an hour later. "I was just summoned by the big-wigs. I presumed I was in trouble, but what do you know? I end up getting promoted to your notorious case! Tuesday's really are my lucky day."

I sent the document I had been writing to the printer and stood up, giving her a weak smile.

"Yeah, actually I have to talk to you about that."

"Damn straight. I want all the details."

I shook my head, looking regretful. "No, I mean…" I my licked my lips and began stacking folders on my desk, cleaning everything up. "I can't do this. Not to you."

Vicki's expression had gone from excitement to confusion in a matter of seconds. "What are you talking about?"

"Hold on," I said. I darted next door to grab my printed document, and returned, slipping it into an empty folder. Then I gave it to her to read.

Her frown grew deeper as she read the page. When she finished she looked at me like I had just told her Christmas was cancelled. "But…you can't just do that. They have protocols around here."

"Well, then they can just demote me until then. I'm really sorry you'll miss out, but I can't do it anymore."

Vicki shook her head. "They'll just give your case to somebody else. It won't just go away because you can't do anything about it."

I'd been worried about that, but I was more worried about myself.

"I hope they don't, but I can't stop them if they do." I took the document back, and gave her a pat on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Vicki."

"I am too."

I moved back down the hallway, striding with purpose, and knocked on Derek's door loudly. He opened the door and raised his eyebrow. "I thought everything was dealt with, Miss Simon."

I shook my head and gave him the folder. "Not for me." I sat and waited quietly.

He gave it a quick read, and looked at me seriously. "You're sure?"

I nodded.

"Well. You have to give two weeks notice around here, so consider it business as usual until that date."

"I won't work on this case."

Derek's mouth thinned. "I'll report to Mr Martin. Expect a message in an hour."

Word gets around in the task force. I'd no sooner returned to my desk and started packing my things away when Paul visited. He took one look at the box on my desk and crossed his arms.

"What's going on, Simon?"

"I'm guessing you heard," I said, not looking up from what I was doing.

He shut the door and leant against it. "Yeah, it was the funniest thing. Vicki told me. So I thought I'd come here and hear it from my girlfriend before someone else tells me. Is it true you quit?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. No, really" sarcasm was dripping off his words. "I mean, I saw this coming, I don't know why I'm so surprised."

I stopped and looked at him pitifully. "I know, I should have said something."

"No, it's fine."

"No, it's not. I was meaning to tell you."

"Not enough hours in the day, right?"

Paul was mad. He was more than mad. And I didn't blame him. I wanted to go over to him, but I knew he didn't want me to, if the crossed arms and the glare was any indication. So I didn't.

"I don't know what to say, Paul."

"How about the truth? That's always a good place to start."

I nodded. "I haven't been happy here in a long time."

Disbelief flitted across his face. "You wanted this."

"I know," I bit my lip and clasped my hands. "I thought I did. But…it's just too much. I hate stressing all the time, freaking out over my assignments."

Paul's face softened some. I was telling the truth; perhaps not the complete truth, but my words were true. I didn't want to lose sleep over my responsibilities anymore. I wanted freedom.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I just didn't want you to think I couldn't handle it."

He uncrossed his arms and walked over, grabbing one of my hands. "This isn't a competition, Simon. We're past that," his eyes searched my face. "Aren't we?"

"We are," I whispered. "I'm sorry you had to hear it from someone else."

"It can't happen again. You're my first, Suze. If this is going to work, I'll need to be yours too."

I moved closer and put my arms around his waist, putting my head against his chest. He didn't move for a few moments, but once he put his arms around me I let out the breath I'd been holding. "You _are_ my first, Paul."

His arms tightened around me, and I stood there, breathing him in, until we were interrupted by Nicola knocking on the door. She raised her eyebrows as Paul left, and waited until he was out of earshot before speaking.

"Poor taste, having sex in an office no longer yours."

"We weren't," I said, my voice terse and impatience written across my face. At least one perk of quitting meant I wouldn't have Nicola talking down to me anymore. "You have something for me?"

Nicola pushed a form into my hands. "Your new placement." I looked at it. Filing, two levels down. The reprieve had been nice while it lasted. "I trust this isn't a problem?"

I shook my head. "It's fine."

"You're better suited to it, at least," she replied, her voice dripping with scorn.

I had a retort about assistants and the likeness to female dogs, but I kept my mouth shut and watched her strut down the hallway, all priss and arrogance inside a power suit.

The first person I saw when I relocated to my new floor was Dominic. We exchanged the usual awkward pleasantries, the kind you make while you're secretly wishing you were somewhere else. He seemed happier, if it counted. A few minutes of casual conversation proved he had moved on. If anything, he was back to the charming person I first met at the Japanese restaurant.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked.

I shrugged, and shook my box. "I didn't want to do it anymore. I'm down here until my resignation is effective."

"Harsh."

"My decision. What are you doing down here?"

He held up a stack of folders. "When you're the king of paper, you are placed amongst the paper pushers. I've always been down here."

"Sounds like fun," I managed a smile.

He shrugged. "Not really, but it pays the bills. Why did you quit? I heard you were pretty good at what you were doing."

It was my turn to shrug. "Yes and no. The really good ones are the ones who don't quit."

"I suppose. Where are you assigned? Here," he reached for the paper in my hand, and gave it a read over. "I know where that is. I'll show you."

He didn't wait for me to answer, so I followed him.

"I'm actually thinking of asking for a change of scenery myself," he said, leading the way down the corridor. "At least now I know there is a position vacant," he smiled over his shoulder to lessen the sting of his words.

"It's all yours," I replied. "Do you have any handy tricks? They like those."

Dominic paused in front of a doorway that led into an open room filled with cubicles. I gave a silent goodbye to my office with a door.

"Yeah, I heard rumours about yours. True?"

I blinked, and turned to him. "Sorry?"

"I heard you were the Allison DuBois of the task force."

"Oh," I was taken aback. "Um, if you say so."

"That's what everyone says."

"Yeah, well…" I shifted the box in my hands, wanting the conversation to be over. "Not anymore. Thank you for showing me here."

Dominic got the hint and handed the page back over. "Have fun. I'll see you around."

I sighed and drifted to an empty cubicle over in the far right corner, putting my stuff down on the desk. The woman next to me smiled in a way that made me wonder if I'd made a mistake.

"Welcome to hell," she said, biting her nails.


	27. Chapter TwentySix

"_Can't you tell that this is all just a contest?  
The one that wins will be the one that hits the hardest?"_

Pink: "Please Don't Leave Me"

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**PRESENT TIME**

"Wow. That's screwed up," Candace agreed.

I had been filling Candace in on my past for the better part of an hour. She was an entertaining person to talk to; she gasped at the right moments, and at some points she gaped so wide I easily see how good her dental hygiene was.

"No kidding," I said.

"Especially since, of all the people Paul decided to root, it was her." Candace crinkled her nose and pointed at Marcia, who was strutting through the courtyard holding a few clipboards. With Jesse, I noticed, who was walking next to her.

I felt a twinge of something strike through me. At first I couldn't pinpoint what it was that caused me to imagine what it would feel like to pull out Marcia's hair, but then I realised it was jealousy. Ice cold jealously.

Unfortunately, this realisation didn't make me feel any better.

Also unfortunately, Candace seemed to notice my gaze harden and my eyes narrow. She guffawed. "Oh my god…that's hilarious."

I drew my gaze away from Jesse, and looked at Candace. Her eyes were wide and searching, and I could see her come to a conclusion in her mind.

"What?" I asked.

"That Jesse-no-please-call-me-Jesse-I-want-us-to-be-equal dude…Dr DeSilva. You've got the hots for him, don't you?"

I raised my eyebrow. "Um, I think everybody does."

She shook her head. "No, not that way. I mean, yeah, he makes me want to have sex really bad—you too, clearly—but you like him for more than that, don't you?"

"Huh? No, I don't," I shook my head furiously. "I don't think so, Candace. You're wrong on this one."

She clicked her tongue. "Sure. You know, I don't know if anyone has ever told you this—Paul probably has, on the occasion, I'm guessing—but you are a shit liar. One of the worst I've ever met."

"Maybe I'm not a shit liar. Maybe you're just crap at reading people," I contradicted.

"Beg to differ. You want him. It's so obvious."

"That's not true. Can we change the subject? Even talking about this is so unethical."

I wasn't surprised when my words sounded false to my own ears. But it wasn't possible. I couldn't like Jesse. I mean, to him, I was crazy. Maybe I really was.

Candace had obviously decided to let it go, because her next sentence changed the topic completely. "What happened to your friends? Adam and Cee Cee? You told me they got married, but you didn't say what happened to them. Why haven't they visited?"

She was asking all the questions any third party would ask. Someone who didn't know what had happened. I contemplated lying, but then realised I had nothing to lose anymore.

"It was towards the end," I said, crossing my legs and focusing on a tree on the other side of the chain link fence. "Michael had been stalking me for a while. Learning my habits, who was important to me...it was after everything that happened with Paul. I had to make them leave, without really going into what was happening. They had no idea I was even in trouble. Anyway, I made it clear that staying would be dangerous for the both of them. I booked a flight for them to another country and gave them two one-way tickets. I was desperate; I did everything I could think of. My mother had just been murdered, and it was impertinent that they weren't next."

"So they went?"

I nodded. "I told them I'd be in touch as to when they could return. They're smart enough to realise that if I didn't contact them, to expect the worst. They probably think I'm long dead."

I hadn't said that to anybody, but Candace had the kind of charisma that made you want to spill your guts. My nose was itching and my eyes were watering, so I wrapped my arms around myself and hopped off the bench, bowing my head against the wind. Candace grabbed my elbow. "Let's go inside."

We were walking down the hallway together, and I was lightly scuffing my feet on the linoleum, when Candace stopped me. "Your newest sweetie is heading your way."

"Huh?" I snapped my head up and saw Jesse striding towards us. "Shit."

"No, not shit. Yay!" she clapped and giggled, but it quickly subsided. "Wonder what he wants. He looks kind of…weird."

I frowned and studied his face. His hair was hanging over his forehead, and he looked agitated, rubbing his face.

"He looks confused," I concluded. "Unless you hit another person over the head with something?"

"Not this week," she flexed her hands and batted her eyelashes like an idiot.

By the time Jesse reached us, we were both serious.

"Susannah?"

I nodded, and Candace not-so-subtly nudged me with her elbow.

"There is somebody here to visit you. Of course, you don't have to see them if you wish…" Jesse's eyes were unfathomable. There were only so many people that would want to see me.

"No, it's okay. I'll see them."

Candace raised her eyebrows. "Who wants to see her? I think she should know in advance, don't you?"

"It's Paul Slater."

I frowned. Wasn't he…? Obviously not. Beside me, Candace started bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Ooh. _The_ Paul Slater. Have fun."

_Wrong sentiment_, I felt like saying. Candace walked off, and Jesse and I headed for the visiting rooms. He took my elbow and led me inside, past the security guards. "I'll be waiting in the corner if you need any help," he whispered in my ear. His close proximity thrilled my every nerve.

I managed to nod, following the security guard that motioned me into my seat. Paul was no where to be seen; he was most likely still being searched.

A door on the opposite side opened, and another guard walked in, leading Paul. Our eyes met and I suppressed a chill. The last time we'd seen each other…I pressed my lips together. I could still remember how it felt, his closeness, and how I had wanted more, even when I shouldn't.

I was the first to speak. "Paul."

He nodded, sitting down. "Suze."

"What are you doing here? I thought you'd been given the third degree by the law, or something."

Paul shrugged, waving his hand. "Nothing I couldn't handle. I know people."

"You got off? How?"

"I know people," he repeated.

I looked down at my lap. "Why are you here?"

"To see you, obviously," he stated. I looked up. His lips were quirked in his trademark smirk. "That a problem?"

"It…could be."

Paul leant forward. "You're talking about the kiss?" I didn't answer. He raised his eyebrow. "Suze, we both wanted it. You know it, I know it. I don't see a problem here."

I withdrew a little. "I _do_. It was wrong. And, okay, I liked it, and that is the truth and I'll admit that, but it was _wrong_. It was a mistake."

"A mistake? Aren't the best things mistakes?"

I frowned. "Not when you're married." I refused to look at him. There was a silence, until I asked, "Well, what are you going to do now?"

Paul set his jaw, like he wanted to say something important, but didn't trust himself to say it. All he settled on was, "I'm working on something. You'll see."

My eyes locked with his. The eyes I used to gaze into all those years ago had hardened again into ice that couldn't be penetrated.

"You're treating me like I've done something terrible. I just came in here to see how you were doing," Paul said.

I shook my head. "No. You came in here to let me know that you're okay. That while I'm not, you are free, free of consequence."

Paul raised his eyebrow.

"You always did try to mind-fuck me, Paul, but I understand you better now."

"Really? I'll just have to test you on that, then. I'll be back."

"But-"

"I'll be in touch, Suze." He stood, and nodded to the security guard. Then he quickly leant over, and whispered something into my ear.

I sat there in a stunned silence, looking straight forward as Paul glanced at Jesse, and was escorted out. Jesse quietly ushered me out. We moved into the hallway to find Candace waiting, looking through the windows.

"Wow."

I looked her way.

"I mean," she was gnawing on her knuckle, "you had hinted Paul was hot but…_fuck_. You gave up _that_? You really are crazy."

"Thanks," I replied sarcastically. She stopped, and looked at me.

"Oh, Suze…"

I shook my head. "No, you're right. It'll never be the same. He's…different now."

And from the way he was acting, he was one step ahead of me. Always competing. And he'd managed to rock me to the core with just one sentence, whispered into my ear.

"_Be careful of Jesse_."


	28. Chapter TwentySeven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**PRESENT TIME**

I hadn't been able to shut my mind off since Paul's visit. As usual, he had shocked me in one way or another. I wondered what he was trying to accomplish.

I stared out of the window at the sun, which was setting fast. I hadn't moved since early afternoon, not that I really felt like it. It was so much more comforting to sit and think.

What I had said to Candace was true…Paul _had_ changed. Sharp bitterness seemed to characterise each word; there had been resentment in his eyes, I realised now.

The sun momentarily disappeared behind some thick cloud, distorting the light and plunging my cell into darkness. I sighed and braced my back against the wall. One would think that things would get easier, being cut off from the rest of the world. But it wasn't; if anything, everything was amplified because there was no way to escape it.

My thoughts were cut off by a shrieking as someone was carried past my cell. I stuck my head out the door so see a twenty-something woman called Aina being dragged down the hallway by two wardens, clearly having one of her 'episodes'.

"UNFAIR TREATMENT! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!"

I sighed and closed the door again, listening to her shrieks weaken as they dragged her further away. Even though it was warmer in the hallway than in my cell, I still returned to my sitting position against the wall. Time passed, and soon the moon filled my cell with silvery light, pouring through the barred window. I shuddered as a blast of wind seemed to come out of nowhere, whistling and wrapping itself around my arms and legs, before disappearing. I hugged myself tighter, my teeth chattering.

It had been a long time since I had felt that sensation. It usually meant that there was a ghostly presence hanging around and it was time to mediate. It brought back a feeling of nostalgia I never thought I would have felt. I wondered if Paul still mediated, still shifted. Did he still transcend? Still close his eyes, like he had taught me, and slip into the alternate dimension that ghosts resided in, saw things the way they did. I hadn't had the chance to ask him.

I probably already knew the answer, anyway.

I tried to focus on something else, but it happened again. I hadn't transcended in so long because it scared me to do so in here, but at the same time it was an appealing idea. I hadn't done it because I couldn't help anyone but myself. But it would definitely break the monotony of sitting here and doing nothing.

Without further contemplation, I lay down on my cot

Like I had many times before, I evened out my breathing and emptied my mind. The first time I had ever done this intentionally, I had been holding hands with Paul. He'd coached me on what to do to get there, and what to do once I'd transcended. It had been one of the scariest experiences of my life, but at the same time it had brought absolution. I finally understood the feeling I had on occasion when I went to sleep, as if I was growing colder.

We have our differences, but I'm grateful to Paul every day for figuring it all out, because I probably never would have, even after learning about Shadow land. We'd been two teenagers back then, trying to take on the world.

Actually, not much has really changed.

I went.

My skin was growing cold, and seemed to seep from my chest, enveloping my entire body. I shuddered, but kept concentrating. Once I felt it reach my toes, I opened my eyes and sat up.

My physical body remained on the cot. I looked unconscious.

My cell was all washed out colours and pastel hues, and covered in mist, and looked more depressing than before. It was like Shadow land, but the world I knew. This was the plane of existence ghosts walked on. To mediators like me, the two planes were not mutually exclusive.

There were no ghosts around, not that I expected there to be. If they had of wanted to be seen in my cell before I'd transcended, I would have seen him. With nothing left to do, I moved through the door and looked down the hallway. Still nothing. Several wardens walked past, some passed right through me. I shuddered; you never grew used to the feeling that you didn't technically exist. It was cold, too. A cold that permeated your bones. It was worse here, because at least Shadow land didn't look like our world. I wrapped my arms around myself and continued to walk through the halls, calling out for the unnamed person who had signalled me in the first place. Nobody answered, and I groaned. I was going to have to seek them out in the old fashioned way: by looking.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't an exercise devoid of fun. It was amusing to peek in the staff room and witness the nurses in their natural habitat, some sleeping with their mouths open, others picking their teeth or engaged in a variety of unflattering behaviour. I wondered what Jesse was doing, and then quickly disregarded my thought. I couldn't care about that. He was probably home, after all, having a life and doing _normal_ things.

"Hello?" I called out. My voice was distorted; it didn't contain the clarity of the normal dimension that I was used to. I searched for a while, until the only place remaining was the high security section. I didn't want to go back there, but I knew I had to. I walked past the heavy security, men and women patrolling the halls and looking like they wished to be elsewhere. And then I saw her, leaning against her old cell, looking younger and healthier.

Henrietta.

I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was. "You're still here," I said, stating the obvious.

Henrietta seemed indifferent. "That I am. I see you are, too."

"Turns out I wasn't very good at staying free."

"You did better than me."

I bit my lip. "Why did you do it?"

Again, she was indifferent. "There is nothing left for me here. Don't tell me you've woken up excited, looking forward to the future. It's been seven years. I'm done."

"They might have released you eventually."

"The way they might release you?" she studied my expression and nodded. "I thought as much. No point."

"There must be. You're still here."

She shrugged herself off the door and walked over. Her face was fuller, prettier. How she looked seven years ago. "Yeah, I haven't figured that out yet. Thought you might be able to help me."

_This_ was why I hadn't mediated in nearly three years.

"I'm gonna be honest with you Henrietta. Do I look like I'm in the position to help you?"

"Not just yet. But if you play your cards right, you might be soon."

"How so?"

"I've been watching you," my face must have darkened, because she rolled her eyes. "Oh, come off it. I don't have anything else to do. But something big is coming, and you'll need to be ready to take the chance when it comes."

"Could you be any vaguer?"

"They call it a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I give you the complete a to z right now, it might influence your decision. I just want you to be ready."

I rubbed my hands over my face. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

She laughed. "Actually, I am. I now know why ghosts did it to us all the time."

The wardens were moving around us; a shift change. It was getting late.

"I have to go," I said to Henrietta.

"I'll be here," she said.

So would I.

When I returned to my cell, I was greeted with a very strange sight indeed. My body was still lying where I'd left it, but there was another person in the room now, shaking my body, his voice growing more frantic by the minute.

I swore, and bounded towards my body, concentrating hard. The first thing I felt when I returned was the sting of my cheeks. I opened my eyes.

The worry in Jesse's brown eyes drained away, replaced by relief and confusion. "You're okay."

"I was sleeping."

"I was slapping your face."

"…I'm a heavy sleeper?" I offered. He raised his eye in disbelief.

"You were unresponsive. I thought you were-"

"I'm fine," I cut him off. I'd been careless, leaving my body unattended for so long, thinking it would go unnoticed. I sat up, and Jesse moved back. "What are you doing in here?" I asked. "My examination isn't for another couple of days." My heart was pounding, but I wasn't sure if it was from Jesse or from transcending. Maybe both.

"There is a loophole."

"Oh?" I replied, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"It's my responsibility to check on the wellbeing of patients. You seem to be having a hard time adjusting."

I raised my eyebrows and quirked the corner of my mouth. "You don't say."

Jesse nodded. He seemed relaxed. "Yes. Paul visited you again, and this seems to be causing you great internal con-"

"Save the professional talk. Seriously," I cut him off. "I don't care if you speak normally—at least I'll be able to understand you then."

He laughed and ducked his head, looking sheepish. Finally, he met my gaze again. In the semi-darkness, his eyes almost looked black. Usually I would have found this eerie, but since Jesse was anything but scary it didn't bother me. It entranced me, more than anything. "Paul affects you a lot, am I right?"

Jesse mentioning Paul reminded me all over again about what Paul had said to me. Be careful. He could have been referring to anything. He could have been just trying to unsettle me. "Anyone is affected by Paul. He's the kind of person who can get anything done by any means—and it's that fact alone that makes you wary of him. But that's only a minor part to me, of course. There are other reasons."

"Like the fact you used to be emotionally involved?"

"Irrelevant now."

"No, it's not," he disagreed. I looked over at him in interest, but I was distracted by the sight of how he had mimicked my way of sitting, so that he was resting his back against the wall. I gave a laugh before I could stop myself. "What?" he asked.

"You're taking the whole doctor-patient equality thing a little far, don't you think?"

Jesse grinned. "It looked very comfortable. God knows you always sit like this. I was wondering."

"I stick to the tried and tested."

He smiled again. "I noticed." His smile seemed to soften his face, making it that much more…

Not going there.

"Where are you from?" I asked him, out of the blue.

Jesse looked confused. "Where do I live, you mean?"

"No, you have a slight accent I can't place, and it's been bothering me. Where were you born?"

"Guess."

"I'm terrible at that game. I'll probably offend you."

"Try me."

"South Africa?"

"Nope."

I took in his black hair. "India?"

He gave a laugh at that one. "Do I sound Indian to you?"

I screwed up my face. "No, you don't. I told you I was bad at this."

Jesse gave me an expectant smile. "I'll give you a hint. Think southern hemisphere."

"Australia?"

He nodded. I looked at him in disbelief. "But that's so far away."

"Yeah," he said, leaning forwards a little, sounding secretive. "There's a new invention called airplanes. They're very effective at transporting people across large bodies of water."

I poked my tongue out at him. "You don't look Australian."

"I was born in Spain, but I moved a lot with my parents when I was young."

"How long has it been since you left?"

"Several years."

"Why'd you leave?" I'd always wanted to live overseas, but had never gotten the chance.

He looked contemplative. "Wanted to see the world, I suppose. I don't like feeling boxed in."

"Which is why you work at a mental institution?" I asked, fighting a laugh.

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?"

"Do you ever go back?"

Jesse nodded. "Every now and then; my family lives there, still."

"I have friends there, too."

"Where?"

"No idea. I haven't spoken to them in a while."

"Ah," he said. I could feel the conversation growing awkward, which was disappointing. I saw him sneakily glance at his watch, so I gave him an out.

"I'm okay," I whispered. "You don't have to worry about me."

Jesse leant his head against the wall and looked at me. "No, Susannah, you're not."

I exhaled gustily, which helped to release some of the tension that had built inside of me. "Yes, I am," I murmured. "You have no idea, do you?"

His tone was a little cautious. "I probably don't, no. That's why I'm asking you."

I shook my hand, feeling frustrated. "I just…I can't tell you anything, okay? Anything I do say you can just use against me for your diagnosis."

"You shouldn't jump to those conclusions. If you wanted someone to talk to, I could be that person. You only have to say."

He had no idea how right he'd sounded when he'd said that. But it was impossible, everything was. He was my doctor. Not my friend. Then there is the fact I have permanent residence in a mental health hospital. That has to count for something. I shouldn't matter.

So why was he making out that I did? Why did he care? This was just making me more upset.

"Honestly Jesse, thank you for the offer. It's appreciated, truly. But I just _can't_. I'm not supposed to matter anymore. I messed up, hugely. But it's over. So why do you want to know?"

There was a silence at the end of my rant. I removed my hands from my eyes, and felt a warm tear escape and slide down my cheeks. I bat it away impatiently.

"Susannah…" he said softly, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. His hand was warm on my cold skin, and I felt goosebumps arise. "It'll be okay."

I laughed without humour. "Really? Do you know what it's like for everything to think that you're completely crazy, and that you don't have the capacity to do anything of importance anymore, much less act like a normal human being?"

I heard him sigh, and his hand slid off my shoulder. I missed the contact the minute it disappeared. "No. I can't say I do. But I can say this: you're not crazy."

I froze and looked at him, my eyes wary. "What?" My voice was tiny.

"You're not crazy. You never were. I realised soon after the passing of Michelle Wilson. You…your reactions, your thoughts, the way you were…were too genuine. It was clear you were mentally sound. Which got me thinking—what are you doing here in the first place?"

I stared ahead at the wall, not knowing what to think. Admittedly, what he was saying was almost a relief. He thought I was normal. But it obviously hadn't helped much.

"Choosing not to acknowledge your past can't help, and I think you know this."

I did. I bit my lip, contemplating. Then I made my decision. "No. I won't talk about it. If I'm going to try and get over it all, move on or whatever, I can't just keep dwelling on it."

"It's quite the opposite, actually. If you can talk about it, acceptance will follow."

"I don't want acceptance. That will never be possible. I just want to forget about it." I turned my head away, staring out the window. I was losing this argument, and badly.

Jesse was getting braver, though. He obviously knew he was close to breaking through the surface. This was both frustrating and enlightening; not too many people were brave enough to push when I'd made up my mind. I felt his hand on my arm again, lightly tugging on it.

I kept my head turned away, my stubborn streak driving me.

And then it all fell to pieces when I felt that same strong, calloused hand creep up my neck and to my jaw, making its way over to the other side of my face. I inhaled as he cupped my cheek and gently turned my head around to face him.

I froze.

This was so…surreal. And unbelievable. So many revelations, so much closeness, in such a small amount of time.

"Wha…" I began, but it died on my lips when we made eye contact. His hand on my cheek was one of the most beautiful feelings in my life; not like he was intruding, but like it was fine that his hand was there…more than fine.

I thought he'd move his hand once he'd been successful in turning my head around, but to my surprise it stayed there. I was stuck staring into his sincere gaze. His eyes were dark pits, and emotion I couldn't decipher pooled there. They were so unreadable—in a way, almost as hard and unattached as Paul's were now—except they didn't chill me every time I looked at them. That didn't mean they didn't have a hold on me. Oh boy, they did. The distance between us was heady with unspoken words and anticipation. I felt like I couldn't move, as if the workings of my body had shut down at his touch; I couldn't do anything else except stare.

He caressed my cheek with his thumb and spoke softly, comfortingly. "You aren't alone. I will always be on your side. You don't have to go through this by yourself."

My eyes were filling with tears, but for an entirely different reason. I could barely register what was happening; how Jesse…Dr DeSilva…was on my side. More than that, he was touching my face. It only took me a few seconds to realise how close our faces actually were. They were closer than they should have been, by rule. There was something unspoken passing between us, and it was so intense I barely noticed that his face was coming closer.

Soon, I could feel his breath on my lips, his nose almost touching mine. The close proximity, the electricity between us, was making me nervous, anxious, excited…

I was thinking with my heart, and not my head. Actually, I was beyond thinking.

And then it ended, so quickly that I was almost convinced it had never happened in the first place.

"Hey! Hey! I hope you aren't too depressed that you forgot to eat!" Candace yelled through the door, in a high pitched voice.

Her interruption acted like an electric shock between us, and we both jumped back from each other as if we'd just burst into flames.

And then it sunk in…I had almost kissed Jesse.

I couldn't look at him. I felt his weight shift and as he stood quickly, opening the door. "Evening, Candace."

"Um…hi? I hope I wasn't interrupting your session."

I heard Jesse clear his throat. "No, no, you didn't. We were finished here." I felt his eyes on me, and I looked up. His expression was even more unreadable than before. "Sleep well Susannah. And you, Candace."

She grinned and waggled her fingers at his departing figure. "So…" Her voice was laden with expectation.

I tried to sound detached. "He was just checking my psychological state after the whole Paul thing."

"Huh," she nodded. "Well, you didn't answer me. The wardens are getting everyone to the dining hall. Are you hungry, or not?"

I definitely wasn't hungry, but something told me I should probably go with her. I'd have plenty of time to think later on tonight, because I sure as hell wouldn't be sleeping.


	29. Chapter TwentyEight

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**OCTOBER 2007**

Walking away from the task force left me with mixed feelings. I was now unemployed, but I was free of the weight that had been pressing on my chest for the past few months, the endless worry that I would eventually have to do something about a situation I just wanted to disappear on its own.

I couldn't dwell for too long, however; I had a list a mile long of things I had to accomplish by the end of the day. The first stop was my old apartment. I had kept it, despite moving in with Paul, because I'd been raised by a woman who had never taken anything for granted in her relationships and I wasn't about to do the same. Now that I was unemployed, I was going to have to seriously reconsider keeping it—it was going to suck me dry.

It occurred to me as I was walking down the steps that perhaps I didn't have to sell it; perhaps I could change the lease over to another person while I figured out what to do next. It was an appealing idea.

I was so caught up thinking about possible candidates to move in that I had reached my car before I'd felt anything wrong. I looked around the car park.

It was quiet. The cars were lined up perfectly, untouched until the end of the day when their owners would return. And yet…

And yet I couldn't shake the feeling there was something wrong. A dread had settled over my shoulders, a prickle dancing across the back of my neck I couldn't ignore. I walked faster to my little red transportation machine and put my belongings in the back seat, looking over my shoulder. That's when I saw him, walking down the stairs in the far corner.

Michael. He had something pressed to his ear, and I realised what it was the moment my own phone started ringing. I didn't answer it.

My heart in my throat, I skittered to the driver's seat and slammed the door, starting my car. I shifted into gear with shaking hands, and pulled away, driving as fast as I could and ignoring the trilling of my phone from the seat next to me. I could see in the rear view mirror he was running, but not towards me—towards another car. His own.

Nothing would have made me press my foot on the accelerator faster. I stopped myself from looking in the mirror and instead used every ounce of concentration that I could to just get away.

I drove through various intersections, doing well above the enforced speed limit, and took some side alleys and back streets that I knew well and hoped he didn't. I drove until I was sure I had lost him, and pulled over in a side street, right next to a public park. It was empty, considering the time of the day, but I didn't get out. Instead I remained inside, gripping the steering wheel and fighting the urge to be sick.

My heart was pounding, and my I couldn't swallow properly. My fingertips were tingling, the way they did just before I started to cry. But I didn't allow myself to cry, because there was no point. I was okay. I was fine. I'd lost him.

I wanted, so very much, to call Paul, so I could cry and he could tell me I'd be okay and he'd protect me. I knew he would be livid, but I also knew he'd forgive me. He'd have to. We'd been through so much together. We could get through anything.

I still didn't pick up the phone though.

I took a shuddering breath and rubbed my face, compartmentalising. I would figure out what to do with Michael later. For now, I had things to do. I told myself this, over and over, until I started believing it. Then I turned the key, and drove away, carefully and slowly and too numb to care.

I knocked on the door, and he looked up with his mouth open, giving me a beautiful shot of the masticated beef he was eating for lunch. I laughed despite myself, my earlier stress momentarily forgotten.

"What's happening, Adam? Close the barn door, you're letting the flies in."

He swallowed and put his burger down on his desk, wiping his mouth with the napkin he'd placed under his elbow.

"Don't get me wrong, Suze," he coughed, getting over his surprise. "The sight of you causes that reaction on a daily basis. But I just never thought I'd see you here."

I shrugged and sat down, placing my bag on the chair next to me. "Well, I need your expertise."

"This is an employment agency, Suze." He spoke the words slowly, like I was a very confused person in the wrong place.

"And I _love_ that fact, Adam. I'm unemployed."

His confusion grew. "But didn't you just get a promotion a little while ago?"

I shrugged. "Things change. Hasn't Cee Cee told you _anything_?"

Adam looked embarrassed. "Actually, she may have mentioned something about your work, but I confess…"

"You weren't listening?"

"She owns my heart and my soul, but not my ears," he confessed theatrically.

"I appreciate how hard that must have been to admit. You're a grown man, Adam."

He beat his chest with his fist, eyeing his burger. "Do you mind if…?" I shook my head. He picked up the burger again with relish. "Grown men have to eat. So, what can I do you for?"

I handed him my resume. "A job, if you please. Maybe an assistant position or something?"

Adam pulled a face. "I think we can do a little better than that. Area?"

"Nearby. I'm not keen on travelling too far all in the name of employment."

"Picky shit. Pay bracket?"

"Something I can live off."

He finished his burger and threw the wrapper across the room into the bin, pumping his fist when it landed perfectly. "So, nothing too ambitious, then. Makes _my_ job a little easier."

"I appreciate your help," I told him. "How are you and Cee Cee going?"

Adam smiled and nodded. "Good, good. Guess what? She still doesn't know where we are going to elope." He looked so proud of himself I nearly started laughing all over again.

"I'm impressed."

"I'm getting better at keeping secrets. I have to," he leant forward, looking serious. "I mean, she found out I was watching sports the other night when I stayed up late, instead of working like I said I was. She acted like it was porn, or something. A man has to have a little outlet, you know. She can't know _everything_."

"It's Cee Cee. She has her ways."

"I know," he shivered. "It's scary, sometimes. She probably already knows we're having this conversation."

"She does," I said.

His eyes widened.

"I rang her to let her know." I elaborated, and watched the colour filter back into his face.

"Oh. Well then. Anyway, I actually had something to ask you and Paul, now that you're all serious and shit."

I sat back in my chair and waited expectantly.

"Witnesses. We need two. To, er, tie the knot. So we figured, instead of kidnapping two people we've never met off the beach and holding them hostage until they sign the papers, why don't we bring some friends along?"

I clapped like a freak and squealed. "Seriously? So where are we going?"

"We'r-" He snapped his mouth shut. "Nope. If I tell you, you'll tell Cee Cee."

"No, I won't. I can keep a secret."

"I'll let you know soon. I'll give you enough time to save up and take time off. If you can promise to keep your mouth shut."

"Thanks."

He went back to scanning my resume, and then looked up in surprise. "You were a burger flipper? I feel like I don't know you anymore!"

I hung up the phone, feeling like I had just been steamrolled. I'd just admitted to my mother that I'd quit my job, and she reacted in the way I'd come to expect from Helen Ackerman: a request for a dinner date and a bottle of wine, as soon as possible.

The oven timer went off and I took out the biscuits I had been baking. Yes, baking. I hadn't been used to free time, so I'd spent it learning how to cook. I never thought I would embrace the culinary skills my mother had tried to pass on, but I found it to be very therapeutic, and took my mind off things quite effectively.

I wondered if that was why it took so long for my mother to get her first grey hair. All you had to do when you cooked was follow the instructions step by step, and if you wanted to deviate away from the plan, then it was your choice. You could experiment, and the worst-case scenario would be that you screw up, and you have to start again.

In the grand scheme of things, it didn't really matter. Unlike some things.

I lifted the biscuits from the tray and set them on the wire rack to cool. Then I moved the tray to the sink, taking a moment to survey the beauty of the view that the kitchen had: nothing but ocean, deep blue as far as the horizon stretched.

Paul shuffled into the kitchen at the smell of something to eat. He was dressed up formally for the dinner we were attending that night, and he was looking as handsome as ever. He stopped, leaving his tie hanging around his neck like an afterthought. "You're baking, again? Is this going to become some sort of normal routine?" he grinned. "Should I be excited?"

I shrugged, and pointed to the biscuits. "Only if you like jam drops."

He nodded and picked up one, eating it thoughtfully. "Not bad, madam."

And took another. And another.

I grabbed the spatula and whacked his offending hand. "That's enough. There won't be any for later."

"Who says there needs to be any for later? Can't you just make some more? You seem to like it. And you're not so tense anymore. You seem almost…" he walked around the counter and hugged me from behind, talking into my hair. "Serene. Unless, of course, I did something right last night."

I scowled, and whacked him in the face this time with the spatula. "Shrink that ego of yours. It'll be the death of you."

He shook his head, letting me go. "No way. These," he gestured to the biscuits, "probably will be though. How much butter did you put in the mixture?"

"As much as the recipe told me to. I have a job interview next week."

Paul's face lit up. "Congratulations! Where?"

I told him about the publishing company. He grinned, and hugged me again. "You'll do great. Although with these biscuits you could always apply to be a homemaker. I wouldn't mind."

I rolled my eyes. "And go crazy? I don't think so."

"Uh-huh." He hugged me tighter. "I love you. I love you so much. Did I mention that I love you?"

"Twice. What do you want?" I sighed in mock annoyance, turning my head a little to face him.

"Another one?" he pouted, his blue eyes sparkling. He was using the legendary Paul-eyes, with a ninety-nine percent success rating. And unfortunately, I wasn't the small percentage that _had_ turned them down.

"Fine."

Paul grinned in delight, and grabbed another. "So," he said conversationally, "are you going to get ready for dinner?"

I smiled. "Yes, I will."

"When?"

"Once you let me go."

Paul kissed my shoulder. "Aaaaaaaand…why, exactly, would I do that? You're very huggable, you know."

I grinned in spite of myself, kissing him on the cheek. "Love you too. Now…" I peeled myself out of his grasp, and walked out of the kitchen, pretending not to notice him taking another biscuit.

I dolled myself up in record time, choosing a black halter dress that fell to the floor. I put on my shoes, grabbed my jacket and walked down the staircase, trailing my fingers along some of the paintings. When I descended, Paul smiled appreciatively and held out his hand. I intertwined my fingers with his as we left the house. "You look beautiful."

I smiled sheepishly. "Thanks. You look handsome, as always."

"I know, I have the touch."

I snorted and hit him playfully with my clutch as we walked towards his car.

Dinner was the same affair as always. Adam got drunk, and Cee Cee resigned herself to being the designated driver. We caught up over everything that had been happening, and spent a few hours just sitting there, ordering more rounds of dessert and red wine.

Paul had been less vocal than usual during the discussions; he looked like he was thinking hard about something the entire time. His stoic attitude made me nervous, but whenever I asked him about it he would proclaim he was fine and then make an effort to join in for a few minutes.

Then, after our second round of dessert, he clenched his fists together and nodded.

Oh yeah, and then grabbed my hand, pushed his chair away, and sank to floor. My eyes widened and Cee Cee and Adam abruptly stopped talking, their mouths hanging open.

"What are you doing?" I whispered furiously, darting a look around. Some of the tables closest had also ceased talking, watching us with interest.

Paul ignored me, and looked at my hand like it was the be-all and end-all of the world or something. Then he looked up at me, his eyes containing a sort of honesty I had rarely seen before. "Suze, I know this is a little sudden, and probably surprising, but…"

I nodded slowly.

He sighed, and I saw traces of…nervousness? I almost hoped it wasn't, because it was a rare time I ever saw uncertainty within Paul. He cleared his throat.

"These past few months…they have been the best of my life."

I was too entranced to notice that the whole restaurant had just…stopped.

"I love you, Susannah Simon, and I want you to be with me forever. My first, always." He grabbed something out of his coat pocket and opened it. My eyes went even wider when I saw what was in it. "Will you marry me?"

I blinked, aware that my mouth was wide open. I couldn't think; my mind was reeling from his words. I had a moment of fear, but then I looked at him, and it fell away. I loved him. He knew me, and he knew who I was.

The decision was easy. So, to put him out of his misery, and to end the foreboding silence, I smiled and nodded.

"Is that a yes?" he asked, more vulnerable than I had ever seen him in my life.

It brought tears to my eyes and I choked out a laugh. "Yes."

Relief filtered into his face, and he pulled out the ring that was cushioned in the box, slipping it onto my finger. The ring was simple, yet elegant: a thin gold band with two golden leaves enveloping a circular diamond. I leant down and kissed him hard, hugging him at the same time in joy.

My heart was slamming in my chest, and my mind was in overdrive; my entire future had changed the moment I had said that one simple word. I was envisioning my life, together with Paul, and I liked what I saw.

After we pulled apart I then registered that we were receiving polite applause from the restaurant. I felt myself blush, and I found my eyes straying to the ring now sitting on my finger.

Inside I could feel a bubble of hysterical laughter building, but I suppressed it, kissing Paul again, who had finally sat back on his chair. Adam was the first to regain his composure, and leant over to shake Paul's hand.

"Congrats, man. We're both now officially tied up."

Cee Cee was sitting there crying, her face a bright red. She was trying to choke out words, but Adam cut her off. "Cee Cee is very happy too."

She laughed and socked him on the shoulder.

I was staring at Paul and smiling like a maniac. "That was…"

"Very sensitive, for me, and never to be repeated," he replied. "But…you're worth it, Suze. And it was the truth, too."

I blushed and put my head on his shoulder. I couldn't think of anything else to say; I was still stunned.

Cee Cee caught my eye, and we grinned at each other so hard I could feel my face starting to ache.


	30. Chapter TwentyNine

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**PRESENT TIME**

I didn't see Jesse for a few days after our near-lips encounter, and this, I'm sure, was meant on both sides. I deliberately stayed away from places I knew he would be, and he didn't visit me again.

Well, until my psych evaluation. There really is no escaping that.

The past few days had been also been empty of Henrietta and Paul. I was torn between loneliness and relief. The only reprieve I had was Candace, who seemed to stick to me like glue. I didn't really mind her company, and she seemed to be a deterrent for Sam, so I wasn't complaining. But when Candace wasn't around, it gave me time to think. Thinking was dangerous, especially because, when I was lying awake the night after I'd nearly kissed Jesse, a realisation hit me like a slap in the face:

I'd fallen for Jesse.

It had been plain obvious, looking back on that night, how much I'd wanted it. I'd wanted it so much. That I couldn't deny anymore. I couldn't deny that he affected me, because he did. But the realisation didn't change the fact that it was wrong. It was very, very wrong.

And what about him? I had no idea what he was thinking. Was he relieved it didn't happen? Was he embarrassed? Maybe a little bit of both. I mean, whether crazy or not, I was still a patient in a mental institution. Not exactly the ideal environment for a romance.

I was sitting by myself on one of the side alleyways, watching the wind play over the grassy surface of the hill. The back of the institution, where I was sitting, was one of the only places not completely enveloped by trees. I could usually see most of the town when the weather was fine.

An interruption in the form of Davida came shortly after. "Uh, Susannah Simon? Psych eval. Move it." She slapped her clipboard against her hand like she usually did when ordering us around. I think she meant it to be intimidating.

I stood and she pretended to shepherd me to my cell, leaving me to face Jesse alone. Running away in the opposite direction, or perhaps skipping Dorothy-style down the hallway arm-in-arm with Marcia, seemed more appealing to me.

My reasoning was simple: I didn't want to be left alone with him again, because I wasn't entirely sure I would do the right thing around him. But I guess the fates wanted it that way, because before I knew it I was opening up my door, ignoring the person already waiting for me inside and shuffling silently over to where my pillow usually sat at the head of my bed, picking it up and situating myself in the corner as far away as possible.

Jesse was sitting there awkwardly, like he didn't know what to say or do. He had taken his usual residence at the very end of my bed, and was looking blank. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but his eyes were seeing right through me like they always did.

It wasn't fair that he could. This was wrecking too much havoc on my state of mind.

Silence enveloped the two of us like a blanket that was neither comfortable nor warm. If anything, it was freezing. Freezing my insides, my common sense…

It's all so stupid, isn't it, how someone can affect you so much without actually _doing_ anything.

Jesse spoke first. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lied, speaking softly. "I'm waiting for you to start twenty questions."

"Right," he nodded in resignation. He was acting different, like he was even more uncomfortable than I was.

Which was saying something.

I was pretty sure I'd hit the nail on the head when I thought he'd be embarrassed. He definitely seemed like he was.

It felt like my stomach was twisting itself into knots for reasons I didn't completely understand. I knew that I liked him, and that I'd wanted to kiss him, but it wasn't anything I hadn't felt before. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since I'd felt emotions like this, bubbling underneath the surface in a constant hum of activity.

Jesse took out his pen and scanned it down at least ten questions, skipping them all. I lowered the pillow that I was holding against my chest.

"Wait…what are you doing?" I asked, leaning forward the slightest bit. "You have to ask those, don't you?"

"It'd be pointless—see?" he showed me the list, shuffling closer. Even though he was still a fair distance away, I still felt his presence like a fire. I tried to ignore it, and looked at the sheet. "Questions like these would be redundant," he tapped at question two. "Like 'have you been experiencing any violent urges?' We've already both established that you aren't, in fact, any less mentally correct than the average person, so I'll just mark that one as a 'no', to save me asking it."

I nodded, feeling stupid. "Oh."

"Questions one to ten are usually just purely psychological…but you already knew that, I suppose."

I nodded again. "I didn't realise you could just make up the answers."

He shook his head. "We can't, but I figured it'd make things a little easier. Paul did say that-"

At the mention of the word 'Paul', my hand slammed down on the mattress. "What?"

Jesse frowned, and looked pained that he'd let it slip out. "It's nothing."

"No, no, you talked to him? As in, had a _conversation_ with? One in which you talked, he talked, and you both replied?" I had trouble conjuring a mental image of that particular scene. There just didn't seem to be enough room to fit them both.

He looked like he was regretting even speaking. "Yes. We did. It was just before his last visit." There was an edge of finality to his voice, like he didn't want to talk about it anymore. I was aching to know if they had gotten along, but I found that to be something I couldn't comprehend; their personalities were just so different—as polar opposite as you could get.

But I had to know one thing. "So…what did Paul say to you?"

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck. "That you don't like being pushed on topics you despise. I figured the psychological questions would have been exhausted on you."

I stayed silent, but my mind was whirring. There were so many things I was thinking of that I wanted to say out loud, but I couldn't find the right moment to ask. The fact that Jesse's very presence was doing a number on me might have been a factor as well. Finally, I said, "You didn't have to do that, you know. I can handle it."

Jesse surprised me by groaning, frustrated at something I couldn't pinpoint. "That's the thing, Susannah—you shouldn't have to! What did you honestly do to get thrown in here? No one deserves this."

"That's easy to say, because you don't know what happened. In some ways, I _do_ deserve this."

He looked disbelieving…angry. "You don't believe that."

"I might."

"Right. You deserve this, do you? You look me in the eyes, and say that you truly deserve everything you've gone through. Go on."

I wondered what he was seeing right now when he looked at me. I turned my head away. "Let's not do this."

"No, we need to. I want to help you, Susannah. Just answer the question."

I was exhausted, suddenly. I wanted to do nothing more than curl up and sleep, and ignore the very person sitting next to me, demanding answers I didn't want to give. My lip trembled, and my nose was itching. I made the mistake of looking at him, and found myself blurting out the truth in a single word. "No."

"You're not going to lie to me anymore so you seem stronger?"

How quickly he knew me. I shook my head, my lip still trembling. "No."

Something touched my hand, and I broke eye contact and looked down. His…his fingers were so close to my own they were practically touching. Then, ever so slowly, it drifted over my hand, and he flipped it over, intertwining his fingers with mine. I swallowed. I was shaking.

He was touching me again. Why was he doing this?

Why was he putting me through this?

My eyes were darting over his, trying to divulge some hidden agenda, trying to find answers. "Why are you doing this?" My voice cracked halfway through.

He was staring at me, determined. Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping a little. "I don't know." He only hesitated for a moment, though, because he straightened again, his grip on my arm softening. He brought his hand up until his fingers were dancing along my arm. I was frozen by the time they had reached my shoulder; I couldn't move. Jesse had such a way about him. It almost made me forget who I was. All I could concentrate on was how his fingertips were connecting with my skin in feather light touches that chilled me through in both excitement and fear.

And then, I don't know how, his hand was on the curve between my neck and shoulder, and I had my hand over his.

"Susannah," he breathed.

Our faces were as close as they had been last week. The electricity was back like it had never left, crackling between us with certainty.

His gaze was on my lips. He glanced up, as if gauging my reaction. Then, ever so slowly, we touched. His lips were softer than I could have imagined, so gentle. A jolt ran through my fingertips and down my spine as we kissed. The more responsible part of my mind was screaming in indignation, telling me to stop it, to cut it out, to pull back-

But I couldn't bring myself to care. I had _wanted_ this. I couldn't deny that, and I wasn't going to.

My hand went to his shoulder, and I pulled him in closer. I sighed against his mouth as I felt his thumb caress my check. It was, in general, the sweetest kiss I'd ever received in my life. He just seemed to in tune with what I liked, and how I felt.

He…he cared. I could tell, just in that one kiss. I suddenly felt very safe.

Slowly we pulled back, looking at each other. The damage was done, and there was no turning back. I exhaled, and put my head on his shoulder. He pulled me to him, and I rested my face at the base of his neck, breathing him in.

We sat like that for quite some time. He was so warm and so comforting. I shut my mind off, determined to enjoy this while it lasted.

"You'll be okay," he whispered softly into my ear.

I believed him.


	31. Chapter Thirty

**Chapter Thirty**

**NOVEMBER 2007**

It was midday, and our engagement party was in full swing, thanks to Cee Cee. Music was blasting through speakers sitting around the sliding door leading inside, underscoring laughter and the raised voices of my relatives and close friends. I was sharing a seat with Paul at the main table on the back deck of my mother and Andy's house.

Well, not so much sharing a seat as sitting on his lap, but minor detail. Cee Cee and I were halfway through our second bottle of wine, watching Adam attempt to bounce his bottle top into Paul's glass, and failing miserably.

"I still can't believe it!" Cee Cee laughed, waving to her mother, Janine Webb, who had just arrived, clutching what looked to be at least seven bags of chips to her chest and making a beeline for my own mother. "You and I both engaged. Talk about a serious case of who knew."

"Engaged to truly wonderful men, if I do say so myself," Adam pointed out from next to her. Cee Cee laughed tipsily and kissed him on the cheek, but Adam had other ideas. "What?" he asked after she pulled back. "That's all you give me? I don't get any lap-action like Paul over there? Obviously I proposed to the wrong girl," he mock-whined, turning his head away like a small child.

Cee Cee ignored him, studying us. "Indeed, the man does speak true. There is another chair, you know…"

I shrugged, and leant back on Paul while he gave a speech about saving seats and being considerate. He put his hand on my shoulder, and I clutched it with my own, trying not to laugh as Adam bounced yet another bottle cap in the general direction of Paul's drink, his face falling as it rolled off the table.

Cee Cee had a distant look on her face. Suddenly, she yelped "I'll be right back!" and took off towards her mother.

Adam shook his head, looking after her. "I can never seem to get her to sit still. Ever. How do you do it?" he asked Paul.

I couldn't see Paul's face, but I just knew he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Animal magnetism."

I rolled my eyes and elbowed him in the chest. Cee Cee returned to our table, holding a camera. "Well, I've never been good at the whole photography gig before, so I'm doing it the amateur way. Say cheese." She held out the camera, gesturing with her other hand at Paul and me. We caught on quickly, and I sat up a little straighter. Paul followed suit, resting his chin on my shoulder, his hand still in mine.

We held that position for a few seconds, before she realised that she didn't know how to work the camera. We sighed and hung our heads as Adam explained how, with a lot of flamboyant gesturing. I laughed a little, and over the frequent cries of 'stop looking at me like I'm BLONDE, Adam!' Paul muttered in my ear, "She's always seemed to be so adept at everything else, who would have thought her weakness would be digital cameras?"

I tried to keep a straight face.

"OKAY!" Cee Cee shouted to get our attention. "Return to positions, troops!"

Paul and I did what was 'ordered', and she took the picture, squealing with glee at the screen. "It looks so awesome!" She handed it over to us. I checked it to make sure my eyes weren't closed.

"Nice," I commented.

"I don't look too bad," Paul said from over my shoulder. I screwed up my face and looked at him accusingly, before I realised he was grinning, waiting for my input. "Come on, say it, I know you want to."

"You're not that good," I said to him. I turned to Cee Cee. "Thanks for the picture. Now delete it, girlfriend," I ordered.

She laughed and shook her head. "Heck no. I'm getting this quadruple developed. It's gorgeous."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, and we launched into a debate over how important photos were, and whether they really mattered in life. We were cut off, though, by Paul's phone ringing. He smiled apologetically, and answered it.

After a few yes's, some no's, and a 'oh, come on!' he hung up, looking miserable. "I have to go to work."

I blinked. "But it's _your_ engagement party. Can't you get out of it?"

Paul gave me The Look, which explained everything.

"I guess not. I hate them," I said. Paul looked pained, and kissed my cheek.

"I'm sorry…"

I assured him it was okay and stood up to let him go, and he promised that he'd be home before dinner. "6pm at the latest, okay?"

I nodded my head and half-heartedly smiled.

My friends, too, gave apologetic smiles, until Adam demanded to know what had happened on the last Survivor episode, considering Cee Cee had taped it and hadn't let him watch it until she had some free time. I tried to answer, but my mind was elsewhere, wishing Paul could return and feeling a little like the third wheel. I excused myself, finding my mother and Janine talking loudly next to one of the speakers.

The topic of conversation became clear only a few seconds after arriving.

"…they said they haven't decided on the date yet. They're doing my head in with their indecision. I told them that they need to work it out so we can start booking venues, caterers and such," Janine complained.

My mother nodded sympathetically. "It's so hard to get married these days; everything needs to be done at least twelve months in advance." She seemed to notice I was standing there, and turned to me smiling, threading her arm behind my waist. "Hello honey, I was just talking to Janine about Adam and Cee Cee. Has she talked to you about the wedding at all?"

I faked innocence and shook my head. "I have no idea. I think she said at some point they were considering a long engagement."

"That's ridiculous! They've already been together five years. How much longer do they want to wait?" Janine asked, her cheeks turning pink. If the matching platinum hair didn't tip you off that Janine was Cee Cee's mother, her short temper did.

"Where did that boy of yours go?" My mother asked me, looking around and swiftly changing the subject. "His mother is drinking all the champagne again."

I turned my head, following her gaze. I hadn't really spoken to Nancy, Paul's mother, since she had arrived, but she seemed content with cradling her wine glass and conversing with Cee Cee's father over near the bar. Paul's father hadn't been able to make it, but as Paul had said once, he could count on one hand the amount of special events Rick had attended, and his engagement party was not one of them.

"Paul had to leave," I said, trying to keep the unhappiness out of my voice. "Work."

Janine tutted. "You're setting a bad precedent, letting him go like that. He'll be one of those workaholic types, just you wait." _Just like his father_. She didn't have to say it, but the words were there as if she had.

"He didn't want to," I replied in defence. "This party was important to Paul as well."

"Of course it was," my mother intercepted, patting me on the shoulder. "Will he be back soon?"

I nodded. "As soon as he can be, but I wouldn't get my hopes up."

"They're terrible people, not giving him the day off for his own engagement party. I don't blame you for leaving," Janine said to me, before finishing her glass of wine with a swift gulp. "Care for a refill, Helen?"

I was left behind as they walked through the doors to the kitchen. I spent the next half an hour talking with various relatives, suffering the judgement that came with having an absent fiancé. The only person who didn't seem to mind Paul missing was Nancy, who sidled over with another full glass in hand, beaming at me like I had just said something spectacular.

"You get used to it," she offered, taking my hand and sitting down with me. She was a regal-looking woman, and she had aged well, despite the alcohol abuse; the only tell-tales signs of her years were creases at the corners of her lips and eyes. Her hair was rolled into a fancy knot on top of her head, and she was wearing a dress that would have taken me several weeks to pay for.

"What do you mean?" I asked, smoothing my skirt. Nancy had always intimidated me without trying, even before Paul and I had become a couple.

"I mean you get used to the game-face," she explained. "The explanations, the absences. You get used to it. And you'll soon find its better when they're not around anyway. At least you don't have to talk to them, then." She laughed like she had just told the punch-line to a hilarious joke. It just made me sad.

"You can always visit any time Nancy," I said to her, putting my hand on her arm. "Paul would love to have you around."

She waved away what I had said like it was a whiff of smoke in her face. "You tell kind lies, dear. I think it's best if I don't. Paul prefers it, I think."

"I'm sure he would like it," I assured her. "I would appreciate it too. It's a big job, looking after him."

Nancy laughed. "It's not too late to back out now."

"It's been too late since I turned sixteen, to be honest."

"I suppose it has. He always liked you, you know. The other girls…I think they were just distractions."

"I was too good for him. I had to wait for him to catch up."

Nancy kissed me on the cheek. "And I think that, my dear, made all the difference."

I filled a cup with water and raised the glass to my lips, looking at the view over the ocean. The sunset was truly beautiful—one of those rare afternoons when the brilliant hues of red, orange and purple are visible without being compromised by clouds.

The house phone to my right ran, and I set the glass down on the sink, wiping my hands on my skirt.

"Hello?" I answered casually, leaning up against the bench.

There was a very faint hiss in the background. It sounded almost like the person was excited.

Telemarketer.

Little did they know that when they'd ask how my day was, I'd launch into a year-long heart-wrenching spiel about how my goldfish had died that morning and that my eyelashes hurt. At least, that was the conversation I was preparing myself for, until a pleasant voice spoke.

"Hello Suze. It's wonderful to hear your voice. You're a hard person to track, you know."

I inhaled, closing my eyes. I didn't even need to think about who it was—Michael had a voice you couldn't easily forget. It chilled you right through.

I swallowed, hard.

"Michael," I whispered.

He laughed. "I'm glad you haven't forgotten me. How have you been?"

"What do you want?" I clutched the phone in a death grip.

Michael continued speaking as if I hadn't asked a question, going in an almost conversational manner, "Well, you seem to be okay. Living with the boyfriend now? Very nice, actually. Obviously cost a pretty penny. Or two."

My mouth opened, but I couldn't speak.

"Susannah? Are you still there? You aren't ignoring me, are you?" He asked in a voice that suggested that if I was, I was going to pay.

I choked a little, my eyes darting around me. "I…uh…"

"Ah, there you are. So, how do you feel at the moment?"

I was still looking around, half expecting him to just appear in the kitchen. "Uh…"

"Indecisive, obviously," he answered for me. "That's too bad, because I wanted to play a little something."

Amidst my fear, I raised my eyebrows. "What, is this the part where you ask me what my favourite scary movie is now? That's fucking original." My words came out in an aggressively sarcastic tone before I could prevent it.

The guy was scaring me, and I hate getting scared.

He mulled my sentence over. "Yeah, you're right. Which means I should probably just skip to the part where I use your rib cage to suspend you from the pool fence?"

My jaw dropped in both severe shock and disgust, and the hand that wasn't holding the phone flew to my stomach. Tears came instantly, and my lips were shaking. "You _fucking_ masochist," I shouted into the receiver, pressing the button and putting it on the bench. I stepped away from it.

And then, like I knew it would, it rang again. Every ring sent a spasm of terror through my body. I was shaking all over, barely able to stand. But I couldn't go to pieces. He was clearly just screwing with me.

Or was he? I had seen the crime scene photos of Rebecca DeMirosso…

No way would I let him do that to me. I tried to suppress the mental images of being impaled on the pool fence, and Paul finding me…

I stood against the wall, looking at the phone and refusing to pick it up. I knew what would happen if I did…I had pissed him off. Then the phone stopped ringing. I sighed with relief, until the answering machine stopped working, and Paul's deep voice floated throughout the house.

"…leave a message, and I'll get back to you if I feel like it."

The tone sounded, and Michael's voice filled the kitchen instead. "Suze, I'm disappointed in you. I know you have a streak of self-preservation in you, and I respect that, but did you really think I'd kill you right now or something?" His voice sounded velvety and smooth, but I wasn't fooled. "Because where is the fun in that? I'll let you put up a fight first."

I shook my head, refusing to believe the current situation I was in. All I had tried to do was avenge Rebecca's murder. I didn't want to die too.

"Fucking hell…" I whispered through gritted teeth. My eyes were getting fuller by the second.

"Are you ready, Susannah?"

I pushed myself off the wall, and ran over to the knife block, doing the first thing I could think of. I pulled out the largest one and clutched it in my left hand, before grabbing the smallest one and using the side band of my underwear to hold it. It was effective, if not entirely safe.

God, I was _so_ dead.

Then I transferred the large knife to my right hand, slowly walking through the kitchen towards the dining room, glancing around at all degrees.

"I like your tactic, arming yourself," he said with wicked amusement over the speaker.

"SHUT UP!" I screamed angrily, darting over to the glass cabinet, opening one of the doors and grabbing the first item I laid my hands on: a wine glass. I muttered a silent apology to Paul, who had bought them for me only a few weeks ago.

Then it clicked; he knew I was arming myself. Which meant he could see me.

At that moment, I had sympathy for all the girls in the horror movies, and what they had gone through. When you're watching them, you're all 'for goodness sake, run OUT the front door, not UP the stairs, you retard!', but now I understood why they never do: there is a degree of control within the walls of a house that the outside landscape didn't afford. Also, I could never outrun anyone outside, let alone a psychopathic murderer with a complementary imagination.

"So, what's next? Are you going to run? Are you going to start screaming, like Rebecca? Maybe you'll cry? Maybe you'll do all three? I bet you're entertaining when you're scared."

I tried to suppress my far with difficulty. I stepped so my back was hugging the glass cabinet. "Really? And what if I'm not? You'll get bored and leave?"

Michael laughed. "Promising, but I find it better the other way. At least, for me. This is the greatest part. The uncertainty, the fear of your victims…they don't know where you are, or what you're planning to do, but they know it's bad and it's that thought alone…it's the _power_. The thrill of the chase. You can watch it all and savour it. Choose when to end it, once it gets a little boring. See the fear, their life, just fade-"

Such a sick, sick thing to say. "You're a disgusting bastard. I'm not scared of you," I interrupted darkly, my voice, I'm proud to say, not wavering in the slightest. It would have been almost convincing, had my heart not been pounding so hard I'm sure he could hear it. The knife was getting slippery in my hand.

"You should be," his voice condemned. "You've just entered a game of traditional cat and mouse. And, by nature's law, the cat always wins. And the mouse and the pool fence get very close and personal."

The sickening mental image flashed before my eyes again, and I gripped the knife and the wine glass even tighter. I could also feel the reassuring coolness of the smaller knife resting against my hip, hidden from view by my skirt, giving me goose bumps.

Then, breathing evenly, filling my lungs with air, adrenaline speeding up the pumping of my heart, I called, "I'm waiting. Let's get this thing started."

This was no different to dealing with a spirit, I reasoned with myself. Training with Tom had given me fast reflexes and kickboxing abilities. I was a big believer in winging it. But most of all, I had anger to drive me. Pure anger. I wasn't some toy he could play with. I wasn't some attraction, or reality television show he could switch of when he got sick of watching it. I wasn't going to let him treat me like a marionette, pulling my strings the way he saw fit.

I could feel rage filtering through my blood, setting my teeth and tightening my hold on my weapons. I let myself get furious. Dangerously furious, full of rage I never, ever let loose. I was sick of hiding, and sick of delaying the inevitable.

My eyes and ears strained for any sound or movement. And then there was a smash. From the sound of it, it had come from the lounge room. It was the tinkling of a vase, I realised. The vase had smashed on the tiles, and the flowers, water and decorative pebbles that had been sitting within were probably now strewn across it.

I'd _liked_ those flowers, damn it.

But I wasn't gullible enough to let it draw me out from where I was standing. If he was hoping I'd make this any easier for him, he was in for a rude awakening. If I was going down—and a small portion of myself knew that was very, very possible—I wasn't doing it without a fight. If possible, I'd take him with me. At least no one would have to worry about him anymore.

A dark thought, of course, but not entirely unwarranted.

"Nice try, asshole, but I don't think you're giving me enough credit!" I called loudly. I listened for his mocking voice over the answering machine, but none came. I breathed in deeply, trying to understand his strategy. He'd obviously knocked the vase over as a ploy to get me into the lounge room, so he was either lurking behind a couch, or in the kitchen, or in one of the hallways leading to either. Or maybe his tactic was to encourage bravery before cutting me down; perhaps he'd let me search the entire bottom floor, discover it empty, and either kill me while I was upstairs or get me while I was running.

I bit my lip and shook my head. Thinking like a killer just wasn't working.

Probably because I'm not one.

Was this what Rebecca had gone through? Or hadn't she known she was in danger until the knife was in her abdomen? Did he let her get scared, or did he end it quickly? If it was any consolation for Rebecca, if I succeeded and caught Michael, her suffering wouldn't go to waste.

Or I could fail and join her.

I shook my head, dismissing the last thought. I was going to succeed. I was Susannah Simon, and I had always made it through in the past. I'd always figured things out.

My eyes swept to the left. There was only a window, so there was no possibility of being attacked from that direction unless he broke through it. There was always the right, which led to the open room at the front of the house with more windows than walls. I positioned myself so I could keep an eye on that room and the kitchen entrance.

I darted across the doorway, holding the knife and wine glass in my hands tightly, quickly devising a strategy.

Taking a deep breath, I ducked my head around the doorway to the kitchen, to check if there was anyone on the other side. There wasn't; the kitchen was empty. I quickly slithered inside, transferring the wine glass to the same hand holding the knife and shutting the door behind me. The sound of the lock gave me a fleeting sense of accomplishment. One less doorway to worry about.

I crossed the kitchen, stopping just before stepping into view of the entrance. Once I was satisfied that it, too, was empty, I shut the door to the large room off, locking it as well. Then I moved back into the kitchen. Part of my strategy was to slowly shut off parts of the house so he didn't have many places to hide. True, it might harm more than help me if this was to truly turn into a game of cat and mouse, but it was the best I could come up with. I placed the empty wine glass on the kitchen countertop as I passed.

Something—my intuition, I guess—told me he was downstairs. It was almost as if I could sense his presence like darkness. I hoped I was right.

I scanned the room. The vase was lying broken in a puddle of water on the floor. I walked over to it carefully, only taking a few seconds to separate the wet glass from the pebbles.

Now that the first part of my plan had gone smoothly, I began to become nervous again. I started walking over to the far side of the house, glancing over my shoulder every other second like the paranoid nut I was.

I'd had that itchy feeling in my palms for a while now, and my heart rate still hadn't quit its fast pace. If anything, my adrenalin was probably the number one giveaway about how scared I was, if you didn't count my shallow breathing. Every sense was on high alert, but it seemed for nothing. The house was quiet and still. Except I knew he was here…I just didn't know where, which was the hardest part.

I finally reached the study and slipped inside after a quick once over. I tossed the knife onto the desk and began searching frantically for the address book I knew Paul usually left under a pile of his work. I needed to find his phone number, the one I'd never bothered to memorise, because I had worked only a few offices away from him and now lived with him. He'd always been readily available. It lay in my cell phone, which was upstairs next to our bed.

I had to call him to warn him. Tell him not to come home, because Michael would have no qualms in killing him too, and Paul was completely unaware that there was a murderer in the house.

Thanks to me.

When I finally found the address book I hissed through my teeth in relief, opening it up and flipping it quickly to the correct page. I'd no sooner located his number when I heard a light thump. The average person would have missed it, but since my senses were so highly attuned it was no surprise that I'd heard it.

I froze, and I felt my heart leap into my throat. I licked my dry lips and tried to breathe past the lump in my throat, grabbing the knife off the desk and walking slowly towards the doorway.

I knew it was him, and he must have known I was approaching, because he coolly stepped into the doorway.

I halted instantly, feeling a chill slip down my back, locking eyes with the person who had been plaguing my life with uncertainty and fear for the last few months.

I'd only seen him a few times, but I hadn't ever forgotten his features. The hair that you would call dark brown, because there is no other name for the colour, the fact he towered over me, his broad, powerful build beneath the ever-present leather jacket. His eyes were a murky green colour. Given any other circumstance, any other personality—not a scary psychopathic one—he would look perfectly respectable, attractive even. But all I could feel was terror.

"Susannah," he said pleasantly, leaning against the doorframe. "How nice to finally have an actual conversation with you."

I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn't. It was like my vocal chords had abandoned me in my dire time of need.

"So, what are you doing in here? I would have thought you'd be halfway down the street by now." He didn't wait for an answer though. He just proceeded, smiling happily, "But no, wait. Address book open on the desk," he gestured behind me, but I didn't look over my shoulder. I just stayed frozen. "Massive, oversized kitchen knife you probably couldn't even use in a fight anyway clutched in your hand…you were trying to call for backup, right? Paul, the boyfriend? Oh, no, wait. It's fiancée, now, right? I keep _forgetting_." At the last word, he slammed his booted foot on the floor, making me jump. His smile grew wider—I'd obviously given him the reaction he was after.

I bit my lip and tried to regain some of my dignity. I opened my mouth, attempting to speak evenly. "No. I don't need anybody to help me fight."

As proud as I was I could talk, even he noticed the fact my voice cracked mid-sentence.

He just nodded, shrugging. "I can believe that. After all, you never told anyone about me."

I bit my lip a little harder. He stepped forward, stretching his hands like he longed to put them around something.

Like, uh, me. And my neck.

I stepped backwards, my butt ramming into the chair that was sitting in front of the computer desk.

"Looks like you're a little cornered, Suze," he made a tutting noise, like this was an exam I was failing. "A bit silly, but then again just makes it easier for me, right?"

He took another step forward. My eyes swept to the left. I didn't think.

I let my survival instincts kick in. I reached out and, driven by the rage enveloping my emotions, I put my hand on the back of the printer and pushed it off the shelf, straight for Michael's face. Then, without sticking around to see if it actually hit him, I turned, and ran for the window.


	32. Chapter ThirtyOne

**Chapter Thirty-One**

**NOVEMBER 2007**

Well, running for the window was the plan. That way, I could grab the other chair just by the desk and throw it through the glass, and get away from him.

But, like I said, that was the plan.

Either the printer had missed Michael, or he hadn't been affected by it, because I was hit from behind by his body just a few steps away from the chair.

My body crumpled underneath his weight, and I hit the carpet stomach-first, feeling one of my teeth pierce my lip. The hand holding the knife flew open, and it landed just a foot in front of my face, the blade reflecting the rays of the sunset outside.

I tried to lift my head, to get up, to get out of there, but it was forced back down. I could feel one of his hands on the back of my neck, keeping it there. I let out a whimper as I tasted blood seeping from my bottom lip. I was desperate for none of it to roll down my chin, so I pressed both my lips together and tried to calm myself by breathing through my nose.

…I tried, anyway.

After a few seconds I realised, thanks to the weight pinning me down, my lungs were restricted, and I wasn't getting enough oxygen. I gasped and tried to shift Michael off, but he just sat there, obviously enjoying my struggle.

"Finding it a little hard to breathe? I would have thought you'd be used to a man on top of you by now," he laughed.

I scrunched up my fists in anger, longing to sink them into his face. Instead I threw my arm out and grabbed the knife again. It was still sticky from my sweat.

"Uh-uh." Michael shifted and plucked the knife easily out of my right hand. "Weren't you ever told not to touch knives? They're sharp. They…" I took in a sharp breath of fear a split second before he did it, "…cut." A slicing pain from my shoulder to my elbow informed me that he'd traced a long line over my skin, deep enough to make it bleed. I groaned, my chest heaving. Everything was hurting…

The knife clattered to the corner of the study, half of the blade covered in red. My blood. I shuddered in fear and disgust. Then, before I could think, the weight shifted and I was granted a moment of relief from the pressure, before I was flipped onto my back. It seemed like there had been minimal exertion on Michael's part; if anything, he seemed even more energised. I let out a yelp as he straddled me, his eyes laced with an animalistic quality I'd never seen _anyone_ possess before, living or dead.

I couldn't move. He had pinned my arms underneath him—NOT GOOD—and I was finding it even harder to breathe. I had a fully grown, angry—psychotic—man sitting on my chest, without making any motion to balance his weight elsewhere.

For the first time in my life, I was completely unable to fight back. Michael scared me like no one else had ever succeeded in doing in my entire life.

My lip trembled, and I tasted more blood.

Michael looked down at me in interest. "You know what I've always wondered?"

I didn't bother to answer. All of his sentences ended pretty badly, whether I answered or not. I was heaving, each breath coming out just as painfully as the one before it. My ribcage felt like it was about to give way…

"Why is it that women are so easy to hurt? See?" Michael traced his finger just below my cut lip, and I turned my head in disgust. He grabbed my chin forcefully, and pulled my eyes back to his. He leant down menacingly. "We haven't even started yet, and you're _bleeding_. Already. You're all the same."

"Why?" I gasped furiously through gritted teeth. "Why are you doing this to me…to them? We never did anything to you."

I had no idea why I was talking to him, demanding answers, but I guess I needed to know…I needed to know _why_ he killed Rebecca. Why he was going to kill me.

He let my face go and grinned, crossing his arms, leaning them on my collarbones like he was getting comfortable. I shifted, trying to get him off me, but he held me down harder. I coughed and gasped again.

"You couldn't leave well enough alone, Suze. As for Rebecca, she just wasn't a very good girlfriend. I could go into detail, but I won't. You see, isn't it always more terrifying when you aren't sure what the motive is? Why, exactly…" he put his finger on my busted lip and lifted it away, examining the blood on it in a clinical way, "we want to do this to you? What drives us...what elates us…and I'm going to keep it that way. Sorry babe."

He then proceeded to smudge the blood on his finger down the side of my face, like he was putting war paint on me.

My eyes were itching, my lips were trembling, I felt weak, I hurt, I ached, I was scared…

A plan popped into my head suddenly, and the adrenalin returned, pumping through my veins like they had a few minutes before. I had a plan. That's all I needed. It made me feel like I had a little power again.

I licked my bottom lip, tasting blood again, and let out a pleading whisper, my plan of action already formulated. "Michael…"

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm listening," he said impatiently.

I tried to look tortured, which, given the current situation, wasn't a difficult feat by any means. "I…I…" the words came out in gasps, each breath painfully drawn from my lungs.

Looking mildly interested, he leant forward to hear what I had to say, unintentionally freeing the lower part of my pelvis.

I kneed him as hard as I could muster.

He let out a shout of pain and keeled over, clutching his tailbone and freeing up even more of my body. I curled my body at the hips and used my knees to hit him again, harder this time due to more momentum, and it sent him face first into the carpet behind my head. Then, using a flexibility I didn't know I possessed, I used my legs to push him off me completely.

In a split second I was on my feet and grabbing the backrest of the chair, furiously swinging it towards Michael, who was still lying on his stomach in shock.

Unfortunately for me, he rolled over a moment before contact, and I ploughed it into the carpet, screaming like a madwoman. One of the wheels broke off completely, and bits of plastic pelted his head. His hand reached out, and grabbed my bare ankle, pulling it towards him. I tried to grab something to hold onto before falling, but the only thing my flailing hands connected with was a circular pen holder and the books stacked next to it on the desk to my left. I had been reaching for the heavy binding machine, but my arms weren't long enough.

I hit the floor on my back, winded, before the pens—ballpoint blue, black and red, ninety-nine cents each—rained down on me. I furiously pulled my leg out of Michael's grasp, and tried to frantically get up again. I aimed a kick at his face, and used it to propel myself up faster. He recovered faster from my psychotic assault on him than I did, and tugged me towards him.

Before I could even think, he'd grabbed my shirt and pulled me up with him, slamming the side of my hip into the desk. I swung at his jaw, trying to loosen his hold on me by way of my impressive right hook, but his other hand grabbed my first before it reached his face, holding my fingers in a vice grip.

His eyes weren't on me, however; they were on something on the desk. Then he looked back at me again, and even more fear flushed through me.

Without warning, he released me, grabbing the fine hair at the nape of my neck and pulling backwards, exposing my neck. He pushed my body against the desk, and then proceeded, to my horror, to lower my neck over something large and spiky-looking.

And, no, it was NOT a cactus.

It was something much, much worse, and would hurt me a head of a lot more—the binding machine that Paul used to file documents for work. You have no idea, at that moment, how much I wished Paul could be like, unorganised, or just use paper clips like the rest of us.

In case you've never seen a binding machine before—good for you—the average one is about as wide as a computer monitor, with metal binding spikes standing on top about as tall as your fingers. There's a lever to one side, which causes them to move up and down when they punch holes in the paper, which is done internally through a slot in the bottom. They're not particularly nice-looking instruments.

And my neck was currently a few inches above it, and lowering rapidly.

I threw my hands out in front of my torso on top of the desk, and tried to push myself up. He kept pushing down on the base of my skull, and I feared that my neck was about to snap from too much pressure. Then he stopped fighting me, and just held my neck in the position it was in, not moving it. His hand danced over the lever and tugged it down a little, letting it go, and let me see it spring back up. He chuckled a little, satisfied it worked properly, and did it once more, probably so I knew good and well what it did.

My heart started pumping just that little bit faster, wondering what in the hell he was planning.

It soon became apparent what his plan was, because he then pushed my head even more forcefully towards it. I realised then that he had been playing with me—he hadn't even been trying before, he had just wanted to see how much resistance I could give him. It was sickening, but even more daunting would be what would happen if my neck and the binding spikes got too close. I tried to push up with my arms again, but they were bent and taking too much pressure. I tried to move my legs, but they were plastered against the drawers of the desk.

The spikes were almost touching…

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Michael's hands push the lever down, and the spikes disappeared into the machine. He stopped pushing my neck, instead holding it in place, pressing my jugular forcefully against the hard plastic cover.

I realised then, of course, that I was in some big trouble right there. Tears were rapidly forming in my eyes, and I felt like crying out loud, but I couldn't. I couldn't let him see just how truly terrified I was.

"Goodbye Susannah," he whispered in my ear. I saw his hand relax…

My hand moved forward, and it covered something long and thin. A pen. Without thinking, I thrust it over my shoulder, aiming for where I thought his eyes might be.

Instead of screams of agony, like I was hoping for, I got the next best thing: he shifted to the side to avoid the pen drilling a hole into his eyes, and I quickly rolled over to the side, too. The chink from the machine let me know that he had let go of the lever, and the spikes were back up again.

I stood, trying to regain my balance, but slipped on all the pens still scattered on the carpet. I felt his hands grab me again, and I pulled my arms out of his reach. Once I was clear, I couldn't run fast enough. I stumbled over my own feet, tearing out of the study like my ass was on fire. I heard a massive thunk in the wooden door as I cleared the doorway. A quick glance over my shoulder showed me what Michael had done with my bloodstained knife.

I was hysterical, running past the vase, picking up a handful of pebbles. Some flew out of my grip in my haste but I managed to keep a hold of one. I ducked behind a couch near the window, crouching as low as possible and trying to catch my breath without making too much noise. I heard his footsteps, uneven and ragged, coming from the study, echoing across the hardwood floor.

My chest was heaving, my breath short and erratic, but not because I couldn't breathe; I was so, so scared. I had never been this scared before. My entire body was shaking. I grit my teeth to try and stop it, but it didn't work. My eyes were filling up with the tears that had been desperate to be free ever since I realised he was hunting me down.

Terrified.

His footsteps stopped, and I imagined him surveying the room, trying to figure out where I had gone. Front door? Up the stairs? Down the hallways? …Behind the couch?

"SUZE!"

His voice shattered the silence into pieces. It was so loud, I flung my hands over my ears, and tears began running down my face.

"SU-SANNAH!"

I bit my lip, and more tears followed.

_He was going to find me. _

His voice dropped dangerously low so he was no longer shouting. His voice was breathy and gravelly. "You're hiding…like a mouse. A scared, helpless little mouse."

I moved one of my hands and shoved it into my mouth to muffle a sob. I couldn't believe that I was in this situation. It wasn't _fair_.

"And I'm…the cat. The feline. The predator. It's like I have God on my side. Otherwise, why would He make me so…" I heard a massive smash, "powerful? And you, so utterly defenceless? Must be God. Or maybe _I_ am. Maybe I am God?"

I heard him walking around, probably in circles, enjoying his torment. I bit down on my hand, hard.

"We're gonna have a blast, us two. I'll grab that handy kitchen knife you brought up to the study and trace it around your stomach…I'll trace out a target. On you! You can be tied up against the pole. Who doesn't like target practice?"

He sounded like an excited kid on Christmas morning.

I shut my eyes, trying to block out the sound of his voice. He…he was only trying to screw with my head. I'm sure of it.

…I think.

"And then we can get some of those…oh, I forgot what they're called…those things you use to skewer meat on a barbeque? Those metal barbs? Sticks? Do you know what they're called, Julie? Help a friend out, can you tell me?"

There was another smash.

"Kebab sticks. Shish kebab sticks."

_Remain silent, Simon._

"Not talking? Okay then. But we can play with those. First one to hit an internal organ gets fifty points. But if you hit a hard place, like…the eyes? A hundred."

I doubled over and clutched my hair furiously, sobbing silently into my arms. I wanted…I wanted Paul. I wanted someone to help, someone to protect me. I wanted to be safe!

I didn't want to fight for my life like this…

Michael was still going on, clearly enjoying what he was saying. He kept pacing around in a circle, probably swept up in his own sick imagination. "…And afterwards? I'll be able to put you up on a pedestal for the world to see. Well, since we don't have a pedestal, the pool fence will do. You haven't forgotten that part, have you Suze?"

How could I forget?

I tried to breathe evenly.

"So are you going to come out so we can start? It's getting kind of dark out."

I hadn't noticed, but looking to the side out the window I could see the last remnants of sunlight. The light inside, however, made everything still visible. Unfortunately.

I focused on my breathing. Oxygen in, and then out. Inhale, exhale. I kept my eyes jammed shut. I felt tingly all over, and my right arm felt sticky and cold. Without thinking, I rubbed my left hand up and down over my shoulder, before quickly pulling it back, realising I'd just smeared the blood from my knife wound all over my arm.

I soon disregarded the appearance of my arm and focused on listening instead. I wasn't game enough to look over the top of the cream couch to see where Michael was, but I also didn't like the idea of staying put for too long. I was similar to a sitting duck, one of which he could pounce on at any moment.

Slowly but surely I crawled around the side of the couch sitting next to a window, and looked. My heart somersaulted in fear as I saw him slowly walking towards the couch adjacent to the one I was hiding behind. He'd find me in less than a minute…

I had to resort to Plan B. Part of me knew I would have to anyway, so I wasn't too surprised. But if it didn't work…

It had to.

I gripped the stone I still had in my palm, and looked for the wine glass I'd deliberately placed on the counter. I had to throw the stone without making too much movement, or it wouldn't work.

I took aim. My head was spinning with a million thoughts, hit-it-or-you're-dead, no-pressure-or-anything being one of them.

I threw it, and then shut my eyes, my hands splaying on the floor so I could launch myself up and off towards the front door.

I counted two heartbeats. Then, to my most absolute relief, I heard the tinkering of the stone hitting the wine glass, and then a bigger smash, the shards of glass scattering across the floor. Michael whipped around and ran to the counter, and I threw myself up, bolting from my position, leaving bloody handprints on the floor and the side of couch. Paul would probably kill me.

If Michael didn't first, of course.

I was sprinting over to the front door, dodging the furniture Michael had knocked over in his search. I was trying to make as little sound as possible, as, less than four feet away Michael discovered the stone I'd used to shatter the wine glass.

And then, without warning, his arm swung out, connecting with my neck. I ploughed backwards onto the floor.

I was stunned. In between the jolt, the pain in my neck, not being able to breathe and my head hitting the floor, I didn't know what to feel. My mind was screaming, but I couldn't get up. Then I started coughing.

To my utmost horror, he loomed down on me with the little pebble in his hand, his knee digging into my chest. "A pebble? You'll have to do better than that."

I coughed again, and then froze as his hand came down to my neck. I felt something cold resting at the base of my neck, where my collarbones ended. I realised belatedly it was the pebble. With one finger, he pushed down on it.

A wheeze escaped me, and the more I coughed, the more he pushed. But I couldn't move. I was frozen by fear.

This was it…

In a feeble attempt to get him off me, I shifted my legs, opening them up to get some leverage. Then, I felt a sharp, stinging pain at about mid-thigh high. It took a few seconds to process what it was caused by, but then I remembered: the knife. The smaller knife that I'd put through the side of my underwear…it was still there.

Fuelled with new hope, I tried to focus my dizzy mind on grabbing the knife. My head was starting to throb, like I was developing a headache. It was light, too, like…

Like I was suffocating. Yeah.

I was still gasping and coughing as I tried to dislodge it from the elastic and slowly pull it down. Blindly, I yanked on it and winced as it cut my finger. But it worked, and I was able to grab the hilt. I flung it up in my stupor, and brutally stabbed him wherever it reached.

Michael let out a howl of pain, and the pressure on my neck dissipated. Through my dizziness, I could see where I'd lodged it—right above his pelvic bone.

He screamed in agony, rolling over, and started pulling the knife out slowly, yelling out expletives I never even knew existed. I rolled over too, but in the opposite direction, using my good arm to help me up.

"Don't fuck with me," I said shakily through gritted teeth, swaying from the lack of oxygen. A few spots of blood on my thigh were seeping through my skirt. My engagement party outfit, which had cost me more than it should have, was officially ruined. I was practically covered in my own blood. If I hadn't been so scared, I'd have been disgusted.

After my victory had subsided, I realised that to escape into the front hallway, I'd have to go past Michael. So, favouring my ankles not being grabbed at again, I moved into the kitchen to go through the other door.

Michael yelled in anger, and slowly started to rise. I blinked in shock—I'd just _stabbed_ him. I started to panic again. Darting a look around, I saw a frying pan hanging off a hook next to the wall. Without thinking, I walked unsteadily over to it, and grabbed it by the end, flipping it around in my hands.

"Stay away from me," I yelled at him, breathing heavily. My chest was rising and falling rapidly; I was charged up again. He just smirked and gained his footing, hopping a little to adjust the weight. Blood was drenching the hem of his shirt and his jeans, but he didn't even seem to notice.

It was our own version of a Mexican standoff; we were both standing there, staring each other down. I had a frying pan in my hands, and he had the knife I'd stabbed him with. Then he yelled in frustration and ran towards me.

I let instinct take over and ducked to the side, spinning underneath his outstretched arm. Then I bit my lip, and swung at his head as hard as I could. The impact sent me turning like a spinning top. Michael thudded lifelessly to the floor a second after I felt a searing pain on the side of my leg, just above the calf muscle.

The scream I released was high-pitched. All I could feel was pain. I dropped the pan—onto his head, but I didn't care—and doubled over, clutching my leg. The knife he had been holding had cut me across my leg as he'd fallen, and although I doubted he had hit anything serious, it still hurt like hell.

I took a moment to look at Michael. He looked dead. To be honest, I didn't care either way.

I didn't want to stay any longer. I limped over his legs, feeling a bubble of emotion rising in my chest. It was overwhelming, like I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I started laughing. Moronic, hysterical laughter tied in with wracking sobs. I hurt all over. I was still bleeding my thigh and my arm, and I could feel fresh blood dripping all the way down my leg and onto the floor.

The walls supported me as I made my way to the front door. I swung it open and practically fell through it, stumbling down the wide steps. I was still scared that Michael would wake up and run after me, but I also felt elated. I'd escaped him, all by myself.

Now I just needed to get _away_.

I inhaled deeply and tried walking faster; I could. I ignored the pain and moved quicker, down the steps and the lawn to the road. I nearly sobbed with relief as I saw a familiar car in the distance driving up the road, illuminated by the streetlights. Paul.

I felt faint, so I slumped down in the gutter, waiting for him to arrive. I heard him accelerate hard and he squealed into the driveway, jumping out before the car completely stopped.

"Suze! Shit—what the fuck happened?"

The streetlights had cast shadows over his face, but I could still see that he was just…scared.

"Paul," I moaned, as he rushed over and picked me up, cradling me into him and kissing my forehead. I buried my head into his neck and hugged him in relief, so tightly that I probably hurt him. But if I did, he didn't mention it.

Safe…

"Suze, what happened? Who did this to you?" he asked in a panic. He was angry. I looked up at him, regret filling my body and chasing away any remnants of terror I had left.

He knew nothing.

"Paul…call the police. I'm so sorry."


	33. Chapter ThirtyTwo

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

**PRESENT TIME**

I woke up alone.

I blinked, a little confused; I could have sworn that there had been another person with me when I'd fallen asleep.

My fingers ran over my lips automatically, but also uncertainly. It took me a few moments to remember what had happened the night before; a trickle of fear ran through me at the thought of what was going to happen now. Would things be okay, or more awkward than before?

Or, dare I think it…had I imagined the entire thing?

I slumped against the wall, my eyes straying to the sky through the window, trying to quash the disturbing thought. I couldn't have imagined it. Never.

Jesse had said my name multiple times. I wouldn't have been able to imagine the way he had said it, so full of promise. I wouldn't have been able to imagine the way I had trusted him so intensely in that moment; I hadn't been able to put any level of trust in something or someone since I'd been thrown into the institution.

I'd been given a small light to make my stay in hell a little easier to bear, if you'd like to go that far.

I bit my lip and slowly slid off the mattress, making my way over towards the door. I figured I just had to find him…just to justify to myself that it had actually _happened_. That it had been real when he told me things would be okay.

I wasn't sure how to exactly go about finding him, so instead I settled for walking the halls, trying not to make it obvious I was searching for someone…but looking around corners and turning around in circles, nevertheless. I was about to give up when I noticed him striding down the hallway, grasping a couple of clipboards and looking stressed. I swallowed my sudden onslaught of nerves, trying not to openly gawp that _this_ guy had kissed me last night.

If I thought he would notice me standing there I was sorely disappointed. He would have strode right past if I hadn't have said, practically inaudibly, "Jesse."

He stopped and did a double-take, saying my name at the same volume. I didn't make a move towards him; I just stood there weakly, wondering what he was going to do.

I feared for a second that he was going to do what he did the first time we almost kissed, and avoid me.

He didn't.

Jesse gave me a smile and leant a little closer, keeping his voice low. "Are you okay, Susannah?"

His proximity, so soon after what had happened before, made my stomach clench in a not-unpleasant way. I couldn't think straight, so I just looked at him dumbly. Of course I was okay. Ha.

I nodded, feeling bashful.

Jesse looked over his shoulder yet again. I bit my lip, a little harder this time, trying to suppress the urge to tell him that there were no cookie jars around, and so there was no reason for him to look so guilty. But I didn't, because I knew what he was doing.

He motioned back down the hallway and we walked side by side until we were outside and away from the ears of his colleagues.

As we were walking I found myself, perhaps unwisely, wishing that things were different. That I wasn't a patient in a mental facility, and that he wasn't a professional doctor, and that we didn't have to be so secretive. That I could be normal, and that I could throw myself—literally, the guy was just too gorgeous—on him, and no one would think anything of it.

I gave a large sigh, which earned a questioning look from Jesse. I kept my gaze straight ahead; I had no desire to have that conversation with him, and bring him down to the same level I was.

When we stopped, I hoisted myself up onto the table and sat cross-legged, watching him. Jesse was the first to speak, and what he did say surprised me; and yet, I knew I should have seen it coming.

"Susannah, I have something to tell you."

My body went still. My fingers curled around the thin material on my pants, my heart falling to the same level as my stomach, perhaps lower. I swallowed, not trusting myself to speak.

…I _really_ should have seen this coming.

"I don't know how you're going to react, but I thought you should know regardless."

I couldn't swallow anymore. I wanted two things equally: for him to just spit out what he was going to say, and do it quickly. But I also wanted to sprint out of the courtyard and lock myself in my room, so I could continue to bask in my momentary happiness.

Talk about a case of cognitive dissonance.

I don't know what Jesse saw, but I was still studying his face and wishing for the millionth time that I could understand what was going on in his head. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I wrenched my tongue from the roof of my mouth, managing to cough out a few words. "God, just _say_ it, Jesse."

He looked taken aback. "Are you okay?" he asked for the second time.

I shook my head, and spoke in a monotone. "You think it was a mistake. You can tell me. I can handle it."

I was lying.

He frowned, and opened his mouth to answer-

"Dr DeSilva!"

Davida was standing a few feet away, looking impatient. "Someone is here to see you."

With a look of apology, Jesse walked over to her. I saw, more than heard, him ask her who it was. And I saw, more than heard, her lips mouth the words, 'Paul Slater'.

Jesse rubbed the back of his tanned neck and nodded. He held up his finger to let me know he wouldn't be too long, and strode back inside.

Without pausing to think about what I was doing, I followed him, justifying to myself that if it had something to do with Paul then I deserved the right to know what it was. After all, Jesse was _my_ doctor.

I couldn't see where he had gone, so I looked through the windows of each door as I passed. About halfway I stumbled to a halt, peering through the glass. Jesse and Paul were standing a foot apart, talking. I couldn't see Paul's face—his back was to me—but I could see Jesse's. He looked incredulous, and a little impatient.

That made two of us.

I opened up the door and let myself in.

The conversation cut off instantly, and Paul turned around. The look he gave me was so cold I almost stopped in my tracks.

"We're talking, Suze."

"I can see that," I snapped, my tone matching his. "If it has something to do with me, then I feel I should be involved."

"Not everything is about you."

I raised my eyebrows. "Right, because you two get together and have coffee on a weekly basis or something. Spare me." I moved over to stand next to Jesse. Despite how unsure I was over what had happened the night before, Jesse was my safe haven. I couldn't put my faith in Paul anymore. I had to make a choice.

My allegiance didn't go unnoticed by either of them; I could feel Paul watching me, putting two and two together.

"Actually, Paul and I _were_ talking about you," Jesse said. He didn't sound apologetic; it was as if he was just stating a fact.

I looked between them. If it were any other situation, any other time, I would have found it amusing. They both looked so different; Paul ran a hand through his curly brown hair in frustration, his blue eyes glinting dangerously. Jesse was standing tall beside me, all black hair and dark eyes. They both, I realised with a shock, represented two different things: my past and my present. Perhaps my future, I thought, looking at Jesse. But I didn't have time to consider that at the moment.

"What were you talking about?"

"Getting you out of here."

I looked at Paul in surprise. "_That's_ your big plan?"

Paul nodded. His face gave nothing away.

"Paul, I know you think you're capable, but come on. That's reaching a little high, don't you think?"

He gave me a very Paul-esque smirk in response. "You seem surprised, Simon. You know far too well how…resourceful I am."

I ignored the innuendo, hoping Jesse would too.

"That's stupid," I retorted, looking between them. "You'll both get thrown into jail."

"Not," Jesse replied, "if we're both careful about it."

I turned to him. "You already let me go once, and it didn't work. _Escaping_ didn't work."

"We're not talking about escaping, Suze," Paul cut in. "I never left the task force. I still have connections."

My eyes widened at his misstep, and I hoped Jesse didn't pick up on what Paul had said. Secrecy was everything to the task force.

Exhibit A: myself.

"Fair enough," I replied carefully. "But I don't see how your _connections_ will help. They didn't help last time."

"I never tried, last time."

I flinched. His words cut me deep, far deeper than I expected them to.

I felt Jesse take my arm, and I stepped back towards him. I hadn't realised that I had moved; a subconscious action with the intent to cause damage to Paul's face, no doubt.

Paul saw Jesse's hand on me, and a shadow crossed his face. I didn't want to know what he was thinking. Instead he just tossed his head, as we were at a party and he was already over it.

"Call it a form of redemption, Simon. Perhaps I feel a little guilty." He looked at Jesse, his face carefully blank. "I'll call you as soon as I know."

And, without a second glance at me, he left.

I let go of a breath I didn't even know I'd been holding. The room was silent.

I found myself staring at the door Paul had left through for a few moments, hurt and regret dancing inside me. I pushed it aside, however; I needed answers of a different kind right now.

I turned to Jesse, wanting to get the next conversation over with.

"So," I said, crossing my arms. "What did you need to tell me?"


	34. Chapter ThirtyThree

"_When someone said 'count your blessings now,  
For they're long gone'  
I guess I just didn't know how I was all wrong.  
They knew better;  
Still you said forever and ever…  
Who knew?"  
- Pink: "Who Knew"  
_

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

**NOVEMBER 2007**

I felt wrong. Uneasy. That feeling you get in your stomach that won't subside when you know something isn't right…I was feeling that now.

The house had been silent for almost twenty minutes. I was alone, sitting on one of the bloodied couches. Paul was outside, still being questioned by the police. I had no idea how he was faring. It wasn't like he could tell them much.

My fault.

I knew the minute he returned we'd have The Talk. The one I was dreading. In some sick way, I was wishing Michael had have finished me off, so I wouldn't have to look Paul in the eyes and admit that, for the greater part of the time we'd been together, I'd been lying to him.

I felt gross. The paramedics hadn't arrived yet; they had been called the moment the police had seen me. I knew I needed to clean myself up a little. I was disgustingly filthy, and yet I couldn't bring myself to wash it all off. I wanted to look as dirty as I felt.

I barely even wanted to get off the couch. I just wanted to sink inside and never come back out, enveloped by darkness. Darkness was safe.

Beads of blood were rolling down my leg at less frequent intervals, dripping onto the hardwood floor. I would probably need stitches in my arm. I could feel one large bruise forming near my ribcage from where Michael had sat on me, plus one on my hip and another one across my neck. I'm sure every inch of me was either bleeding or bruised.

I had been incredibly lucky, one police officer had said. I didn't feel especially lucky, at that moment.

After a few more minutes of indecision, I pulled myself up and limped over to the staircase, heading towards the bathroom. It looked like Paul would be a while. The police had assured me that it would be my turn to be questioned, as soon as I'd had an evaluation from a psychologist.

The sterile whiteness of the bathroom looked hardly inviting. I was acutely aware of the fact I was smearing red all over the tiles as I made my way over to the sink and collapsed, splashing water onto my face, arms and shoulders, drenching some of my hair in the process. I gazed into the sink as the water carried the blood down the drain.

I muffled a sob, splashing even more water onto my face, enjoying the harsh cold against my skin. It drowned out the pain for just a few seconds. I kept doing it until I was gasping for breath, clutching the edge of the sink.

"Oh god," I whispered, my vision blurring with unshed tears.

I was losing it.

I sobbed deeply, and doubled over the basin again, my chest heaving, my bruises protesting. I felt the tears rolling down my cheeks, and watched them fall and join the water droplets in the sink.

After a few moments, I pushed myself up on my wrists, still crying, still in a stupor.

And then I heard the bathroom door close.

I whipped around, my eyes focusing on who was standing behind me. I gave a strangled cry, backing into the sink in terror.

"The…the police took you away." My voice was barely a whisper, but I knew he heard me.

In his hands was the kitchen knife, still wet with my blood. He came at me so fast I barely had time to scream.

I shut my eyes.

I could still hear my scream, but I was confused: why hadn't anything hit me? I had expected the cool metal to slice my skin, to bring unbelievable pain…but there was nothing.

Two hands grabbed my shoulders, and I panicked, flinching and opening my eyes. It was completely dark, and I couldn't make out anything other than a large looming object above me. My panic grew, and my screams became shrieks. I struggled, shrugging my shoulders out of his grip, and began punching in the dark. Only a few of the countless blows actually landed on him, but I was too worked up to care. My only thoughts were on escaping before he could kill me…

I heard him speak, his voice deep and reverberating through my skin, which only made me panic more.

He…he was going to KILL ME!

Michael had come back to FINISH the JOB!

I jammed my eyes shut again, and started rolling my body, trying to get away from him. More hysteria was bubbling up inside my chest and seeping out, fuelling my movements, making them erratic and unpredictable, even to myself. Perhaps that would work in my favour.

I screamed at him to stop, to go, to just _leave_.

I successfully freed myself from his grasp for a few moments and threw myself sideways. The wind was knocked out of me when I hit the floor, and the carpet itched at my exposed skin. I had no idea how I had gotten onto a couch, or a bed, or whatever it was, but I could only focus on getting away, getting away from Michael-

"No!" he shouted, grabbing my arms, his hands quickly finding my wrists and pinning them to the floor. I felt his knees on either side of my hips, straddling me.

_No_…

I tried to move my wrists, but he held them tighter. He was saying something repeatedly to me, but I wasn't listening. It was probably only along the lines of _die, bitch, die_ anyway.

Sudden intuition sent my knees careening upwards. Michael was a guy, after all, and the universal weak spot hadn't been abused enough in my opinion. I heard him grunt, his moan filled with pain, and his grip on my wrists loosened.

Then, I felt my shoulders being lifted up, and then I was being shaken roughly. It was only then that I realised what he was saying.

"Susannah!"

Michael was calling me Susannah?

I didn't stop struggling, but my hysteria was slowly diminishing.

"Suze, STOP! STOP!"

One of my shoulders was released, and I felt the weight of the man above me shift, like he was reaching for something. Like…a _knife_?

I began moving again, moaning over and over again not to do it, for _him_ to stop, to let me go, when a light was switched on. Warm light from the bedside lamp filled the room, and I froze, recognition filling me.

The curly brown hair, the sharp panes of his cheekbones, those icy blue eyes that never failed to make me feel like I was under close analysis…

Paul was the first to speak, his voice wary, and a little strained, I noticed with guilt.

"…Suze?"

His voice broke me out of my funk, my fear disappearing almost completely. Relief washed over me…and activated the tear ducts.

Before I could think, or before Paul could say anything else, I began crying. I pulled him down to me and began sobbing into his neck, holding him so close I was sure it was causing him discomfort.

Well, more than I'd already caused.

I started muttering apologies that were borderline hysterical in between sobs. After the initial shock, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around me protectively. After a few moments, I felt him kneel, before picking me up and sitting down on our bed, cradling me like a child. I clung to him and cried, partly because I was so scared, but also because—now that the adrenaline was ebbing away—I could feel each cut and bruise; every heave made me feel like I was about to split in half.

"I'm sorry," I whispered continuously, until he shushed me soothingly. The bare skin of his chest warmed me, made me feel safe. I shut my eyes and thought back to before I had fallen asleep, and shuddered.

Night had well and truly fallen by the time the police had taken a still-unconscious Michael away, and we had both been questioned. The paramedics had been called to clean me up and bandage my various wounds. Exhausted from the ordeal, I must have dozed off on the couch.

The dream…had been so _real_.

The only thing I could possibly draw upon that was accurate was my anxiety over what I still had to say to Paul. He was probably still confused…and probably scared too. I guess I would be as well, if I found a murderer in the house, who'd almost cut me to pieces.

And a girlfriend…no, _fiancée_, who'd known everything, yet hadn't bothered to share.

He'd probably be MAD too, no doubt…

After an immeasurable amount of time, in which I had stopped crying, my heart rate had returned to normal and my breathing patterns had regulated, Paul pulled back to look at me. His eyes were a kaleidoscope of emotion, of questions. I stared back weakly, his expression almost reducing me to tears again.

The way he was looking at me, his pain…_I_ had done that. That was _my_ doing.

I didn't know what to do. Although I had been hugging him only minutes ago and clutching him like he was my life force, I now felt…dirty. Unworthy.

I had lied to him. So, so much. Why should I get to even touch him? Paul had always tried to do right by me, and yet here I was, taking everything from him. His comfort…his trust…

I was awful.

As quick as if he'd caught fire, I jumped off his lap and backed away a few feet, my head in my hands.

"Suze?" he asked uncertainly. "What are you doing? Are you okay?"

I nodded, expecting him to start asking more questions. When he didn't, I looked up at him sadly. "Aren't you going to go on a question rampage?"

Paul frowned and stood, walking a few steps and looking down at me. "Suze…not tonight. I want to know, believe me, but I don't think you can take anymore at the moment. You need to sleep."

I gazed up at him in surprise, and leant against him when he hugged me again. I was tired, intensely so, but I was wide awake at the same time. I couldn't imagine going back to sleep without being bombarded with nightmares, haunting images of the man who…

_Stop thinking about it Suze_, I told myself. It wouldn't do me any favours. And I _did_ need to sleep.

I followed Paul over to the bed, and he went to the opposite side. As I slipped under the covers, I curled up and watched him. I swallowed. "Paul?" My voice came out weak.

He raised his eyebrows in response.

"Can you…hold me, please?" I flinched, almost expecting him to say no. Instead, he wordlessly put his hands around my waist and pulled me into him. I exhaled loudly, and put my head on his chest.

He…he was perfect, for me. A perfection I'd almost taken for granted. I breathed him in, the knowledge that I may never have the chance to do this again weighing heavily on my mind. He probably wouldn't even want to look at me after tomorrow.

Tomorrow…the word filled me with immediate dread. I tried to push it down though, and just focus on the now. The warmth radiating off of him, melting away the cold, the safeness I felt in his arms. How he was mindful of my bandaged skin. The love I felt every time he kissed my hair…

"Sleep, Suze," he whispered, and I found myself closing my eyes.

It was agony, but at the same time, amazing.

"This...this is unbelievable. How _could_ you keep that from me?" Paul's voice was angry. I flinched.

The next day had come quicker than I'd wanted it to.

"I'm sorry," I said for the millionth time, but he held his hand up, cutting me short. I wasn't surprised. I doubt that sentence meant much to him at all, not anymore.

Paul put his hand down, and instead used it to pinch the bridge of his nose. "So…can you remind me again when this all started?"

I put my hand on my forehead and screwed up my face sheepishly. "June…" I replied softly.

"Fuck!" he growled angrily, picking up the glass full of water I'd given him before my confession, and throwing it onto the floor. I flinched again as the glass shards careened everywhere, and the water splashed.

"I'll get a t-" I began, hopping up, but he held out his hand again, and said no. When I protested, he glared at me.

"I'm-"

He cut me off again. "If the rest of your sentence contains the word 'sorry', stop right now. I've heard enough."

My mouth snapped shut.

I watched him as he breathed in and out heavily, turning around and putting his hands up against the wall, leaning on them and looking at the floor. He stayed silent, and it was close to a minute before I got the courage to talk again.

"Look, Paul, I don't know what to say. I know what I did was wrong, you gotta believe me-" I watched him sniff angrily and stand up straight, still not looking at me. I went on, my words becoming jumbled and rushed. "You have no idea what it was like. How scary it was. I didn't want you getting involved. I was trying to protect you!"

I heard him sigh, and rub the back of his neck, looking at the water puddle on the floor.

"Paul…please. Look at me," I begged, taking a tentative step forward.

"No," he replied shortly.

I stopped, taken aback. It was like all the gusto I'd developed during my hurried sentence was yanked away, and I was left like a fumbling mess again.

"How can I?" he asked. "You'll probably just lie to me a little more than you already have."

Ouch. I squeezed my eyes shut and sank back down onto the arm of the chair. As much as his words hurt, I knew I deserved them. Actually, I deserved much less that that. I didn't even deserve _him_. He _should_ be able to say these things to me.

It was my payback.

I was silent again, while Paul brooded. When he finally turned around, something had changed about him

"What gets me, Simon, is that I gave you countless opportunities to tell me. Remember? And you didn't take them. You didn't even hint."

His words were sharp, and I realised what had changed: his eyes, which in the last couple of months I'd gotten used to being soft and loving, were now like two chips of ice. They were harsh and cold.

…and he'd called me Simon.

This was just as bad as I'd thought it'd be, except I didn't think it would hurt so very much. Well, I'd had an idea, but imagining pain is so much easier than experiencing it. This hurt more than any of the wounds Michael had inflicted on me the day before.

"I gave everything I could to you, and you gave nothing in return. _Nothing_. I don't even know what to think anymore Suze…what else did you lie about?" he demanded.

I squeezed my eyes shut harder, not wanting to look at his face. I…couldn't. I very badly wanted to tell him I was joking and I didn't mean any of it, but I was sick of lying to the people I love. Almost as much, I suspected, as Paul was sick of me lying in general.

"Nothing else was a lie, Paul. Nothing else but that. Just that," I mumbled weakly, without any conviction.

I heard Paul turn away again. "That I don't believe, Suze. And I know you can't blame me for it, either. In the last half an hour I've just learnt that for the past…five months, is it?" he went on, not waiting for an answer, "That my _fiancée_," he spat the word out like it was venom, "has lied to me. The entire time. And not over something small, like a ghost problem, but over a murderer, who has been _threatening_ her, _stalking_ her, and finally _attacking_ her?"

I swallowed the need to say that, technically, it _was_ a ghost problem.

"I repeat, it was all for your own protection. I didn't want you getting hurt."

Paul laughed harshly at that. "Ha! And _I_ repeat, Simon, there's more to it then that, I'm sure. But, of course," he snapped sarcastically, "not that you would _tell_ me or anything."

Something inside of me snapped. Sorrow and remorse turned into anger. I stood up in defence. "Okay, that's IT, Paul. That is _all_ there is to it. I didn't want you getting dragged into this. It was MY problem, MY business, MY job that I had to do. You had your own problems; I didn't want you getting involved in mine!" My nostrils flared as I glared at him.

"In case you didn't realise, Simon, when I asked you to marry me, I meant I wanted to marry all of you—including your problems."

I snorted in spite of myself. "That is the corniest thing I have ever heard you say."

He glared at me. "It's not so much the fact you thought you could do this by yourself that gets me, or even the fact you never said anything to me at all—it's what would have happened if you hadn't survived. What do you think I would have thought if you hadn't of been able to escape Michael? That he kill you and I return home to find you dead, and have absolutely no idea why or how?"

I took a step back, my anger again deflated, my argument again dissolved. "Paul, I…I love you. I did what I thought was right," I mumbled pathetically.

"You say you love me, and yet you were willing to risk putting me through _that_? God…"

I looked at my hands. "That wasn't really something I honestly thought of until Michael was chasing me. I know you don't want to hear it, but I truly _am_ sorry."

One look at him told me I wasn't going to convince him of anything else then, so I shook my head, patted my pocket to make sure I had my phone, and walked around him, avoiding the puddle of water, pausing only to grab my keys and purse.

"Where are you going?" Paul accused harshly.

I turned around, close to tears. His expression was one of the saddest I'd ever seen.

"For a drive. Out. I need some time to think."

He looked down at the floor, and didn't reply. I stood there for a few moments until I realised he wasn't going to say anything, and went out the front door. I shuddered a little, feeling exposed, and quickly hopped into my car. I made my way over to the next street and put the car into park, slumping over the steering wheel, letting a few tears fall. I kept reminding myself that I deserved whatever anger Paul had to throw at me.

I had deserved it all, and it hadn't been like I didn't know it was coming.

Right now, however, I didn't know what to do. I'd run out on him, and I wasn't sure if I'd be welcomed back.

Unsure of what else to do, I grabbed my phone and dialled Cee Cee's number.


	35. Chapter ThirtyFour

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

**NOVEMBER 2007**

The harsh alcohol stung my mouth as I swallowed the shot down. I coughed a little, looking up at Cee Cee's sympathetic eyes.

"I'm so pathetic…"I moaned, rolling onto my back and coughing a little from the burning in my throat.

Cee Cee sighed, and offered her hand. "No, you're not."

I coughed again. "Why did you give me alcohol, anyway? Shouldn't you be all, 'Ah! Solve your problems sober!' or something?" I tried doing a cheap imitation of my best friend, and failed miserably.

She rolled her eyes and lugged me up, holding me by the shoulders. "This is your way of dealing. I will let you have one more and then I'm taking away the sauce."

I smiled weakly, and limped my way back over to the couch, lying down and putting my hands over my eyes. I let out a massive groan of frustration, and put the cushion over my face instead.

"Suze…come on. You're being a little childish."

I was, wasn't I? Oh well. "I know…" I moaned. I felt numb, to be honest, and I was almost relishing it.

I heard Cee Cee leave and then return shortly after. When I heard the crinkle of wrapping plastic, I lifted the cushion off my head momentarily to see what she was doing.

Ah. Chocolates. See? She _is_ my best friend for a mighty fine reason.

She held one out and I reached for it. Just before I enclosed my fingers around the sugared fattiness, she pulled it away. "Oi!" I moaned, not amused. "Not cool."

"You can have some. Just take the stupid cushion off your face first. I don't want it getting dirty—Adam will kill me."

I threw it off in haste and grabbed one, shoving it into my mouth. I smiled in relish, leaning back into the couch, feeling it dissolve over my tongue.

"So what exactly was the fight about?" Cee Cee asked after a few minutes, but I shook my head and put my hand up in the universal 'stop' position.

"No way. If I'm going to go over that, I'll need at least two more glasses of that-" I pointed to the bottle, "and three more of those," I gestured to the chocolates. She shook her head and pushed the bottle away.

"How about just these?" she said, pushing the chocolate tray in my face. I shrugged, and grabbed another. Cee Cee waited while I chewed, and then the minute I swallowed, she looked at me with an expectant expression. "Well?"

"Work," I mumbled, not being able to think of anything else to say.

She cocked an eyebrow sceptically. "Work? You don't even have a _job_. It wasn't that, was it?"

I shook my head. "His work, actually."

A few moments passed. "That's all you're giving me? Come on Suze, try again."

"That was seriously what it was about. Just his work, and one of my old assignments. It was so stupid."

Cee Cee looked at me with narrowed eyes, watching me closely. I cocked one of _my_ eyebrows at _her_. "What are you doing? Seeing if my blinking is conveying another story?"

"Something like that. Why can't you tell me the truth?"

Because you would believe me if I did.

I just watched her for a really long time, choosing not to answer her. I couldn't. I mean, what was I going to say? What _could_ I say?

After a few minutes, she realised I wasn't going to come clean. "Suze-"

"No. Please. Just…please? I'll tell you eventually, I promise. I'll tell you when this is all over, and it doesn't seem like a big deal anymore. That way, I won't get so caught up in the details. Like that I was the worst fiancée in the world and I may have just ruined my relationship." I looked at her pleadingly.

Cee Cee looked at me for another long minute, and stood up. I could tell she was seriously pissed with me, but she didn't say so. At least, not straight away. After a moment of looking at my feet, I stood up too.

"Where are you going?" she snapped.

"Back," I said, with a hint of apology. I was being a really crap friend at the moment, too. Paul had said the exact same thing before I'd left, and now I was running out on Cee Cee the same way I'd run out on him. But I had to go back and talk to him…I couldn't just leave things the way I had. "I should try to work things out with Paul. If he'll listen to me…"

Cee Cee glared and me angrily, and I saw myself out.

He was sitting there, towel in hand, staring at the slowly evaporating pool of water still on the floor.

I walked in slowly, cautiously, expecting him to snap out of his stupor and slam the door in my face. But he didn't move.

"…Paul?"

He looked up, his face soft but expression unclear. "You're back. Didn't think you would be."

I stepped back twice. "I could go again."

"No."

I waited for him to say something else, but he didn't. He just continued to stare at the water. It was so unusual to see Paul like this.

I carefully placed my things on the bench and leant down, slowly prying the towel out of his hands, using it to mop up the water and avoiding the glass. I was almost done when Paul's hand shot out and grabbed my arm. I looked at him in surprise.

"I was thinking…" his voice was a little harder, a little more certain that it had been a few minutes before. "We should talk."

I gulped. "More talking? I thought you were against that."

I saw the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes, but it was quickly extinguished. I took a deep breath.

"Paul…I know you don't want to hear it again, but I wa-I _need_ to tell you this. Even if you don't believe me, or don't want me to repeat it again…" I made sure our eyes were locked. Hopefully he could see my sincerity, and see that I meant every word.

"I love you, Paul. I'm so sorry that I lied. I only did what I thought was necessary to ensure you wouldn't get hurt. I didn't mean to lose your trust, or to make you worry. I…I thought I was doing the right thing." My voice had reduced to the tiniest whisper, and I was looking at the floor.

He didn't say anything. I watched him stand up and walk away from me. His footsteps echoed up the staircase, but I didn't hear a door shut.

It was as if my little bubble of energy popped, and I collapsed into a heap on the floor. My leg was hurting, my ribs were killing me, my arm felt stiff…only inside, I was hurting more. I didn't cry, merely just looked at the steps where he had disappeared. Just left…

Kind of like I had.

No. He wasn't going to get away. I wouldn't let him.

I stood and followed him. Yeah, trust me…I knew I didn't have anything going for me at that moment. I hadn't done anything to make him listen to me, or better still, _believe_ what I was saying.

But I was going to try.

The spare bedrooms were empty. I found Paul leaning up against the wall in our bedroom. His eyes were still impenetrable, he still looked expressionless.

I started to speak. "Look, I know that I-"

Paul strode over to me, a look on his face that I hadn't seen for a really long time. Then he grabbed my hips, and his lips crashed onto mine.

When we separated, gasping, I tried to say something, but he cut me off.

"No more talking then, I guess…" I whispered against his lips, as his hands snaked around the top of my pants, tugging them down.

His lips were demanding on the skin of my neck, kissing with brutality. When they moved to the tops of my shoulders, I moaned, pressing myself in further, meshing one hand in his hand, the other clutching his shoulder. I winced from the cut on my arm, but…_god_. It didn't matter.

Paul's touch was warm but icy at the same time. I could feel my whole body shuddering underneath his fingers. His kisses were frantic; his hands were rough, possessive, as though he was trying to claim my body as his own.

His finger traced along the band of my underwear before pulling them down, while I busied myself removing his close.

"Jesus, Suze…" he muttered under his breath.

Then he pushed me half onto the bed behind me.

He wasn't gentle and he wasn't nice, but he was thorough. All I could do was hold him close, feeling the bottom of his spine as he pushed into me, wrapping my legs around his body and giving myself over to him completely. I came violently and quickly soon after, breathing heavily into his neck which was damp from perspiration.

We were both panting as we eased ourselves up onto the bed fully. Paul gently tugged off my shirt, which was the only remaining piece of clothing I was still wearing. He threw it over his shoulder and onto the floor, and then leant over, kissing me deeply. I put my arms around his neck, and pulled myself closer. When we broke apart, Paul sat up a little, studying my face.

His eyes softened when he looked at the bruises from Michael on the bottom of my neck. He dragged his hand over them gingerly, and kissed the dark, patchy skin. He did the same with my ribs and my left hip, before looking at me again, his eyes sympathetic.

Paul tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, exhaling loudly and resting his head on my chest, mindful of the bruises marring my skin.

"Thank god you're okay."

I smiled softly, and played with some of his hair, twirling it around my fingers.

"I'm okay," I said.

He grimaced. "Barely," he muttered, kissing my stomach.

I didn't know what to say. I knew I was safe, but I couldn't help but feel scared. Just because Michael had been taken away didn't mean he would stay away.

"I'm okay," I repeated.

He sat up, leant over and planted a light kiss under my earlobe. I made a sound of appreciation, urging him to do it again. But instead he just rolled to the side and pulled me close. We stayed like that for a really long time, just breathing each other in, watching the hands on the clock move.

Paul cleared his throat. "I'm still not okay with what happened. The next time something of this magnitude-"

"I'll let you know. I'll tell you." I looked up at him. "I promise."

My mother pushed yet another cup of coffee in front of me. I smiled despite myself, and picked it up. I'd told her the entire story, or thereabouts, and she'd said exactly what I thought she'd say.

"Have you considered maybe talking about this with someone?"

Naturally.

"I've got an appointment this afternoon with Dr Stanley. The police insisted I see someone," I said. My mother nodded in approval. "But the thing is…I'm fine."

She pursed her lips. "No, you're not. But you will be soon. Did you work things out with Paul?"

I nodded. "Yeah, we're working through it. I _do_ love him," I added, seeing her face. She grimaced a little.

She bit her lip. "It's just…you didn't _tell_ him. If something was happening with me, Andy would be the fir-"

"It's a little different."

"I don't see how it's any different."

You see, I hadn't exactly told her any of the mediator stuff, ever, so when it came down to explaining the Michael situation, I'd left it all out. I guess from her perspective it seemed like a pretty obvious thing to do, telling your fiancée. Thing was, I couldn't tell her that the real reason I hadn't told Paul was to protect him. I wasn't going to start spilling about the paranormal stuff just yet.

I changed the subject, and we talked some more until I saw her eyes move stealthily to the clock, and back again.

"Do you have to do something?" I asked.

She blushed. "Er, well…Andy needed help from that place he's fishing at. His car stopped this morning and I was going to go there and take them to the insurance place…"

I smiled, feeling a sudden rush of adoration for her. Yes, she didn't know about my supernatural sense, and her obsession with analysing me did get irritating, but she was still my mother. She'd been there my whole life; no one else had been with me for so long. So I stood up, and put my empty mug in the kitchen sink.

"I better go then. Don't want to keep him waiting."

"Oh no-"

I leant down and hugged her, burying my head into her shoulder. Her arms came around me comfortingly, and I breathed in sharply. She'd jostled my injured shoulder, but I didn't let on.

"It's okay. I love you."

I could feel her smile. "And I love you too, Suze. I always will."

"I've just got to run in for a second. I left my phone there yesterday," I told Paul as we pulled up in front of my mother's house the next day. The door was closed, but I still had keys. I grabbed them and darted a smile to Paul, hurrying over the grass to the front porch.

I did stop momentarily to think how this was weird, the house being deserted. It was a Saturday, after all. Usually everyone was home. But then I remembered that my stepfather Andy and my stepbrothers were on a fishing trip with a few friends of theirs, and would be back until this afternoon. I'm sure my mother had politely declined when they asked her if she had wanted to come, too, knowing my mother and her aversion to anything concerning fish.

I knocked anyway, waiting for a few moments to see if I could hear movement in the house, but I didn't hear anything. I shoved the key into the door and opened it.

"You here, mom?" I called out, just in case. My voice just echoed. I shrugged, and went into the living room. My phone was there, right were I'd left it the day before.

I paused before picking it up, frowning.

It was _exactly_ where I'd left it the day before. I stopped, looking around like I was missing something. My mother had become a complete neat-freak since marrying Andy. Two magazines were strewn across the couch, opened wide, instead of being stacked neatly underneath the coffee table. The glass of water she had been drinking was still sitting on the table too, right in front of my phone.

She had left as soon as I had yesterday, but it was like she had never returned.

I guess this was reasonable. Maybe Andy had converted her into liking seafood.

But I didn't think so. Something was wrong. I could feel that darkness again, the one I'd associated with Michael, seeping in again. I blinked frantically, looking all around me. Nothing. The house was empty.

_Get a grip, Suze._

I shut my eyes and took a few deep breaths, before picking up the stupid phone. _I_ was being stupid.

…But I was going to check, anyway.

I looked over to the knife block, as a first instinct. Then I decided against it, thinking of…well…how little having a knife had helped before. My arm and shoulder, still covered in bandages, could attest for that.

I felt nauseous just thinking of it. Me…running, Michael…following. The makings of a typical slasher horror movie, but it seemed even more diabolical in my eyes.

My heart was thumping erratically in my chest; I knew he couldn't be here. The police had taken him away. He was locked up in custody. There was no reason to be scared. I was overreacting, and I would see that soon.

But to be honest, I wasn't listening to reason. I was thinking of that twisting feeling in my stomach, and knowing I couldn't ignore it. If I didn't do it, and I went home now, it would devour me until I returned.

I started upstairs. The steps still creaked in all the right places, and when I arrived on the top floor, nothing had changed. The paintings were still hanging where they always did, the rugs on the floor where they should be. Nothing was out of place.

Typical of my mother.

Apart from the unbearable silence, nothing out of the ordinary was present. It was only when I returned downstairs did my stomach twist again. I set my jaw, and started at the back of my house, working towards the front. But nothing was wrong. I _had_ been overreacting.

I told myself this over and over, but the feeling remained. It had gotten worse, in a way. Why? Was I missing something? My eyes scanned every crevice of that living room.

I took another deep breath, and went to walk out the front door again when I saw it. I stopped dead.

The door leading into the carport was ajar…but it shouldn't have been. It was always shut, so fumes from the car didn't seep into the house. Always. That was the only thing my mother was more paranoid of than fish.

I moved over to it, and the feeling in my stomach intensified. I stood, resolute, at the door, and then with feigned confidence, pushed it open.

My first thought was…nothing. Of course there'd be nothing. Because nothing _was_ wrong.

Then my second thought was…the car is here.

If my mother had gone to help Andy, surely she wouldn't have walked, right?

That's _if_ she'd gone to help Andy. Maybe she'd run into a friend, started talking, been invited over for dinner, then gotten so drunk she had stayed over?

Yeeeeeah no.

Something was very, very wrong.

I looked behind Andy's work bench, as if expecting to find something there. I didn't. I opened a few of the ancient cupboards holding his work equipment, and still didn't find anything remotely out of the ordinary, apart from a few things noticeably missing in their places. But his work bench had been overflowing with sawdust too, so he'd obviously used several tools recently.

Then, I made my way over to the car. As I was walking past the back tire, I felt my foot squish through something. I looked down, took in the dark colour and screwed up my nose, moving past it and making a mental note to remind Andy to check the undercarriage. Something was leaking, and big time.

The car was completely clear. I could have walked out of there, fine, happy and unscarred, had I not noticed something blue sticking out of the trunk. I knelt down, and inspected it critically.

Denim.

Frowning, I pushed in the lock of the trunk, and lifted it up.

I blinked slowly, and walked back. Two steps. My brain had…frozen. I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing.

Slowly, I sunk down, until my calves were touching the floor. Then, I put my palms on the concrete, somewhat calmly, wanting to feel the blatant cold on my skin. I was numb. My eyes skittered across over the concrete, until it met the puddle of dark liquid that had pooled around the tire.

And then it hit.

My chest felt constricted as my breathing grew faster, as if something was pushing down on my neck, and the pressure was building as a result.

It was rising, and rising…

I don't think I can properly explain what I was feeling. I didn't know what to do first.

I opened my mouth, and released a noise that I'm sure had never existed before now. My breathing was getting faster, every scream raspier, and my world was spinning, but I couldn't stop.

I couldn't scream loud enough. I couldn't express it aptly, and…

The screaming got louder still. I barely even realised. My hands were on either side of my face, pulling my hair back, my eyes jammed shut. My bruised ribs were causing me further pain, acting as further fuel for my cries.

The realisation that the liquid around the tyres wasn't oil had sent me over the edge. Had made what I'd seen in the trunk of the car real.

My hysteria was echoing throughout the carport.

Someone was in front of me. I wished I could become them, if only to further express this…this _thing_ building in me. I had to let it go, but at the same time I knew I couldn't. Not ever.

Paul was speaking to me, holding my face, covering my hands, but I ignored him. I continued to shriek, over and over again.

She…she was…

No.

She couldn't.

Suddenly, my screaming stopped. I opened my eyes wide. My mouth was still hanging open, but nothing was coming from it. I looked at the liquid puddle again, and the hysteria built once more. But nothing came out except hacking coughs.

He was still in front of me. He hadn't moved. "Talk to me."

I couldn't. My throat had closed up.

I looked at that car, and everything it represented, and felt…fear. Distress. And the most intense kind of loss. So intense, it could never be explained, never expressed in any possible way.

Paul turned his head, looking in the direction of my gaze. Then he looked back at me questioningly, slowly standing up. I just sat there numbly, as if watching a movie I had watched before, knowing what was going to happen, but feeling detached, like it wasn't happening to me.

I knew what he was going to see would…

He swore, flinching, and turning his head. Then he began breathing heavily, slowly walking over to the car. His shoulders were heaving.

He stopped in front of it, reaching out, before pulling back; a reflex. Paul breathed in again, shutting his eyes, reaching in and picking up the hammer. He threw it haphazardly to the side. Then he put one of his hands into the trunk, looking off into the distance, as if waiting for something. He was still for a few moments, and then his mouth was set in a grim line, looking down.

My vision was swimming, but I didn't realise until I felt a wet patch on my shirt that I was crying. It was a delayed reaction, but just seeing the look on his face had confirmed it all.

I doubled over, putting my forehead on the cool cement.

She was dead. She…was _gone_. She wasn't coming back.

In some distant place, I could hear his voice, hard but indifferent, then the snap of a cell phone shutting.

And then I felt myself being lifted. I was jerked out of my reverie. He was taking me away.

Something inside of me snapped. I was filled with a sort of frantic desperation that only seemed to be increasing.

I saw red.

"NO!" I roared, suddenly struggling against his binding hold.

I wouldn't leave. I wasn't going to. I would stay there, with her, and…

"Stop!" Paul grunted back in effort, trying to hold onto me. "You _can't_, Suze!"

I shook my head hysterically, kicking with my legs. "I won't leave! No! NO!"

Despite my fighting, I was getting dragged further and further towards the door. If I went back through the doorway, I wouldn't _ever_ see her again. Even if looking at her was painful, I couldn't leave.

I wouldn't. _No_. I wouldn't.

I let loose a ragged scream, gave a swift kick, and I landed on the cement, free.

In a rampant sense of urgency, I coughed in pain and scrambled up, running towards the back of the car again. When I arrived there I grabbed her torso, ignorant of the blood. I pulled. Her body didn't move.

Tears began flowing freely again, and I tugged once more. She still wouldn't move.

The nails wouldn't let her. They were binding her to the floor of the trunk.

I gave another frantic scream, and tugged once more. It was a fruitless try; two strong arms enclosed my waist, and hauled me with force. I screamed and fought, but he didn't let me go.

"You CAN'T!" he said in my ear.

"And I can't go! I can't leave! I…_can't_!" I told him frantically. I grabbed the doorframe as we passed it, and held on for dear life.

I wouldn't leave. I couldn't leave her alone—I COULDN'T.

"Suze!" Paul grabbed my arm, and pulled me again. We made it through the front door and outside.

The slight breeze from the sea seemed to infiltrate my body. My pointless struggling subsided; I just hung loose there, looking at the ground.

Over.

Gone.

Left behind.

Paul stopped walking. He went to place me on the ground, but my knees just followed, bending like a rag doll.

He quickly caught me again. Then he turned me around, holding me securely to his chest.

His eyes were darting over mine, searching. Looking for me.

My vision was narrowing, and I couldn't see anything. I was being swallowed by darkness.

I was…

I was gone.


	36. Chapter ThirtyFive

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

**PRESENT TIME**

"So," I said, crossing my arms. "What did you need to tell me?"

Jesse was rubbing the back of his neck, like he was thinking of how to word something diplomatically. Problem was, I already knew what he wanted to say…or at least I thought I did.

Finally, he sighed, and sat on top of one of the tables. "Well, the majority of what I needed to say you just found out. Paul and I are going to try and get you out of here."

My intuition flickered. "That wasn't what you were going to say to me before."

"It was, actually. I just didn't know how to tell you. I know how you feel about Paul."

God, I hope not. "Paul and I…we've always had a love and hate relationship. Things are just erring a little on the hating side at the moment. But you shouldn't be worried. I want to know these things."

"I know you do…" he sighed. Jesse looked tired, I realised.

"When was the last time you slept?" I asked, moving a few steps closer to him.

He shrugged, which only worried me. I waited for him to speak, but he didn't. I took a deep breath.

"I thought you wanted to talk to me about last night, to be honest," I said to him. He looked up, wary and expectant.

"Why?"

I bit my lip. "I just…I don't expect anything from you. I don't. I'm a patient, for crying out loud. But I found myself wanting it anyway. The problem is I don't know what you want."

I was looking at my feet; I couldn't look at him, which was how I saw his hand snake upwards and grab my own.

His smile was easy, like we were discussing a movie choice instead of an entire relationship. "I thought I told you last night."

His hand was warm on mine, but I didn't tighten my grip just yet. "Heat of the moment?"

Jesse tugged me closer. His eyes were warm as he looked up at me, and I found I couldn't swallow properly. "I meant what I said," he said. His voice was practically a whisper, but I heard it as clearly as if he was shouting. My heart was thumping loudly; I'm surprised he couldn't hear it. "We're going to get you out of here, and back to living the life you deserve. Unless of course," he pulled me closer still, until my legs were touching his knees, "you want to stay in here."

I choked out a laugh. "No thanks."

"That's what I thought."

He pulled my hand until my face was in line with his. He was so close; he smelt distinctly masculine and spicy underneath the ever-present scent of antiseptic. I allowed myself to do something I'd wanted to since I'd seen him; I traced his tanned face with my fingertips. They danced down his cheekbones, and then up towards his forehead. I traced the thick scar there that stretched from the centre of his forehead, slicing cleanly through his right eyebrow.

"How did you get this?" I asked softly.

"Surfboard."

Out of all the answers I'd been expecting, I definitely hadn't thought of that one. I looked at him in surprise. "Really?"

He gave a half-shrug, smiling sheepishly. "Unfortunately. I wish I had a better explanation. Maybe I should say I was cage fighting, I was seriously outnumbered…"

I laughed. "What happened?"

"Well, it was early morning, and I was catching some seriously sick waves, dude," his voice was mocking and slow. I put my hand over my mouth so I didn't snort out loud. "And one wave in particular…my best friend got knocked clean off his board, so I thought I'd be cocky and try it too. I didn't just wipe out; I also got resuscitated by a middle-aged lifeguard."

I'd put a finger in between my teeth, and I was looking at him and trying not to laugh in his face. "You should tell people the cage fighting story instead. I've just lost all respect for you."

Jesse grinned. "You have? I'll just have to earn it back, then." My breath caught in my throat as I felt his hands snake around to the backs of my knees, and slowly move upwards. He was studying my reaction; I could feel the warmth of his hands through the thin fabric of my pants.

"It'll take a long time," I murmured, my eyes locked with his. They were intense and dark. The space between us was heady with unfulfilled promise; a dangerous feeling. And just when I wasn't sure I would be able to stop myself from doing something ridiculously inappropriate, he shifted backwards the tiniest bit, letting me go and creating some space between us. It wasn't much, but it made all the difference. I exhaled heavily.

"I'll take you there when you get out of here," he said unexpectedly. "To the beach. If only so you can see me wipe out again."

A smile played on my lips. "You promise?"

Jesse looked down for a moment, intertwining his hands with mine. "I promise."

"I promise if you wipe out again there will be a middle-aged man present to give you mouth-to-mouth."

"Sounds hot."

"It does," I whispered.

It was a shared moment as we looked at each other, and then he tugged lightly on my hands, his lips rising to meet my own. I had wondered if I'd romanticised the entire thing the night before, if it really had been as good as I thought it had been.

This was better.

Jesse had been languid the night before, careful, but now there was a sense of urgency to his touch. He was firm but gentle, his hands encircling my waist and bringing me closer. I felt my emotions rise and I deepened the kiss, my hands moving up to his neck, my fingertips tickling the skin just below his hair. My skin was prickling wherever he placed his hands, and I knew I was in danger of forgetting myself completely and letting my emotions take over…but I couldn't find it in myself to care.

We both heard the creak of the door at the same time, and broke apart. Marcia was standing on the other side of the door, watching us through the window and looking…disgusted. I stepped away from Jesse, but the damage had been done.

Without a word, she shook her head, turned on her heel, and strode away.

I put my hands over my face, looking at Jesse through the gaps between my fingers. He looked stunned, and more than a little worried.

"That is not good," he murmured, looking at the door as if he expected her to come back.

"No," I agreed. I would have asked him if he thought Marcia would tell…but I already knew the answer. Any elation I had been feeling was quickly being replaced with sickening dread. "What are we going to do?"

Jesse rubbed his eyes. "I suppose…convince her to keep quiet. At least until we've gotten you out of here."

I sighed heavily, pulling my hands away. "I'll deal with it."

He frowned, and shook his head. "No, you shouldn't. She's a wild card."

"I know how to handle her," I said. He gave me a questioning look. I gestured towards the door. "I…I knew her, a little, before I came in here. I've got a better chance at keeping her quiet than you do."

Jesse looked more surprised than I expected. "You did? How?"

"We share a person in common," I reminded him. "Anyway, I'll handle it." I watched him fight a yawn. "And you should sleep."

He shook his head. "I can't leave, not now."

I moved over to him, darting a look over my shoulder at the door. There was no one else there, thank god. "Yes, you can. Go. I'll fix this one."

He went to shake his head again, but I put my hands on his cheeks. "Go."

Tiredness battled indecision on his face, but eventually he nodded. He lifted up one of my hands and placed a kiss on my palm. "You'll be okay?"

I shrugged. "I always am."

I wanted to search for Marcia afterwards, but I was soon rounded up for dinner and lost my chance. Candace sat next to me while we ate and talked—about what, I had no idea—and I made the mandatory nods and sounds of interest. What I was focusing on was something else entirely: Sam. She was sitting across the room and watching me. I had the feeling she did this often, and it did nothing to settle my nerves, which were already in overdrive.

There were more wardens than usual patrolling the hall where we ate. I wondered if they knew something we didn't. Or perhaps they were being more cautious, since their breakdown in security.

I shouldn't have worried about finding Marcia because she found me instead. I was walking to my cell when I saw her striding down the hall, looking all business. She pointed to my door. I got the hint and slipped inside; I turned around and watched her enter, closing the door behind her quietly.

She waited a few moments before speaking. "What are you up to, Suze?"

What was I up to? She made it sound like I was an evil mastermind. "Obviously I'm up to something, otherwise you wouldn't be here," I settled on saying.

"It's disgusting."

"What is?"

"Whatever you and Dr DeSilva have going on. It's disgusting."

I looked at her steadily, crossing my arms. "I beg to differ."

"It's wrong. You're…" her eyes travelled over me, full of judgement and hatred, "you're a fucking _mental patient_."

"I sure am," I replied acidly. I shifted slightly, facing her. "What you saw…you need to keep it to yourself."

Marcia cocked an eyebrow, putting one arm on her hip. "Give me one reason why I should."

I had a reason. I'm surprised she hadn't thought of it. "Paul."

Her face hardened. "What about him?"

"Whatever you think is happening between Dr DeSilva and myself…you better believe Paul is in on it too."

"Bullshit."

"He was here today. Did you know that?" One look at her face confirmed what I had thought. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

"Why would he come here?"

"You already know the answer to that, Marcia."

She did. She just wouldn't admit it. She shook her head, and turned around as if to leave. I was quicker. I slammed my hand on the door as she pulled down the handle. Her expression went from haughty to surprise to fear in the space of a few seconds.

"I'll tell you why you shouldn't talk—because I'm sure being arrested twice because of his wife won't endear Paul to you. And that _will_ happen, too, if you make the wrong decision."

Marcia took a step back from me. "Don't make the mistake in thinking I give a fuck about what is going on with you. I don't."

"But you care about Paul. So you're not going to say anything."

"You don't have a leg to stand on."

I shrugged casually. "That's all a matter of perception. I trust you'll do the right thing."

The look she gave me would have cut glass. Without a word, she pointed to the door. I waited a moment before moving to the side.

Marcia pulled down the handle and looked at me over her shoulder. "You're a fucking psycho," she seethed. And with a toss of her head, she left.


	37. Chapter ThirtySix

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

**NOVEMBER 2007**

I could feel every beat of my heart, as if it was pumping in my ears. I breathed steadily, trying to ignore it. I would open my eyes every now and then, and then close them. Slowly, steadily…

These were some of the only remaining things I had control over.

I inhaled again, to the beat of my heart pumping, keeping my eyes closed.

I didn't want to wake up.

In articles, books, or any other form of literature or media, they never tell you about after. After the discovery, after calm has been claimed.

They don't speak about what you feel after.

"_She's dead, sir…yes…I felt for her pulse…yes…come quickly." _

They don't mention that, after the tears, after the hysteria, after the hyperventilation…when you've finally sat down and accepted that it happened, that those things just fade away.

That, just like energy, they are converted.

Turned into blind hate.

Autopilot. When in reference to human psychology, it is defined as a cognitive state in which you act without self-awareness.

I smoothed the covers on my old bed once more.

I was on 'autopilot'.

The last few days had been torturous. Consuming. Emotionally draining. I'd made a lot of decisions, and I'd hurt a lot of people.

And I didn't even really notice.

I was past caring. I was apathetic. My mother was gone. The person I'd known my whole life—the _only_ person who had provided a constant presence in my life—was gone, relentless murdered by Michael.

Why? I'm sure it was to make his point. Was this some kind of ironic justification? What I'd tried to protect Paul from had actually happened to my mother. Was it Michael's way of telling me that I wasn't safe, that not even an arrest could stop him?

First, I'd felt denial. When I heard Paul's words, spoken into the cell phone, I couldn't believe it. I wanted to stay with her. When he had dragged me outside, it was his way of telling me I'd failed. He didn't even have to say the words.

_Paul_…just thinking about him made my heart twinge slightly in remembrance of what had happened in the last week.

After the tears had subsided for the first time, I'd done the only thing I could have done right then. I left.

I took in my old apartment, like I was seeing it clearly for the first time. I'd told Paul whatever lies had worked, in order for him to let me leave.

The look on his face-

No.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. I'd transcended more in the past week than I had in my entire life. Long hours had been spent, raking the spiritual realm, calling in a broken voice for a mother who wasn't there. She was truly gone.

I was truly alone.

"_Why? Why do you want us to leave? Why can't you just _tell_ me, Suze?"_

_Cee Cee's shrill voice rang through her apartment, breaking my heart. She was getting sick of my monotonous sentences, always saying the same thing. _

"_You…just have to. I can't say why."_

_She remained adamant. "I won't leave on just that explanation. TELL ME."_

"_NO!" I roared, whatever patience I had snapping. "All you need to know is that I'm in a precarious situation, and it's not a good time to be my friend." _

_Cee Cee still looked unconvinced. This only angered me more._

"_Do you think I'm joking? Do you want to DIE? Do you want ADAM to die?"_

_Her face was even paler than normal under her hair. Her lip started trembling. "But…Suze…"_

_My best friend's voice was weak. I shoved two slips of paper into her hands. "Go. Now. Take whatever you need, get the rest sent over if you have to. But don't come back until I tell you."_

"_I…"_

_She wasn't looking at me. Her eyes lay on the paper. I shook her hand frantically. "Okay? Don't come back until I contact you. I mean it."_

"_Suze…" Disbelief and fear coloured her eyes. "Are you sure?" _

_I glared at her. "Do I look sure to you?" _

My phone began buzzing. I looked at it, wary, and ignored it. When it went silent, I breathed in relief. Then it began buzzing again. Rolling my eyes in annoyance, I picked it up, checking the caller ID.

"Vicki…" I said when I answered, "you shouldn't be calling me."

She sounded deflated before even speaking a word. "I know. Nicola said. But…I'm _so sorry_, Suze."

I shut my eyes, and tried to breathe evenly.

"You shouldn't be calling me," I repeated.

"Oh no, it's okay," she soothed, lowering her voice. "Nicola and David won't find out."

"That's not what I meant."

"No, it's alright. Anyway, word on the grapevine is that you're back at your old place," my eyes widened. _How did she…?_ I shook myself. Vicki was still talking on, "…mind if I swing by as soon as I'm done here, maybe with some icecre-"

I was snapping at her before she could finish. "No. You can't come over. Whatever you do, _don't_."

Silence. "…Why not?"

"Because you can't."

"But Paul's not with you anymore, and I thought you might want some company…"

I didn't even want to know how she knew all this. Gossip at work, maybe? "Vicki, seriously, you can't, okay?"

"No, no, it's okay. I'll see you soon!"

The phone was dead before I could protest. In fury, I jabbed some buttons into my phone and redialled. She didn't pick up. I tried one more time.

"What?" she said with some annoyance. "I'll be there in a second."

"No!" I said with force. "You cannot come over. You show up, I won't let you in, okay? You can't."

The silence this time was even longer. "If…if that's what you want."

"Yes."

I shoved the phone back onto my bedside table, brimming with annoyance. Couldn't people just understand that…

No. They wouldn't. They couldn't seem to connect the fact that my mother had died so soon after I'd been attacked by Michael. They didn't realise he was coming after me in a different way.

Michael couldn't know who I had contact with. If he did, they would surely go too. I didn't know if I could handle that.

It was dark. I tugged at the curtains to make sure they were closed, so no light shone outside. I couldn't stop shivering although there was no real reason to be cold. I had the television on, but the volume was so low I couldn't hear it.

In short, I was on the edge.

Lying in apathy had only helped for so long. Now, the gripping fear of my situation was hitting me with full force. I was alone.

Oh boy, I was _alone_.

I sat on the couch, with my knees to my chest, my face in my hands. I wouldn't cry, though. I'd cried too much these past few days. Reaching blindly to the side, I secured my grip around a cushion and pulled it over; I held it like it was a life force.

What I really wanted at this point was for someone to just…hold me. To tell me that, sometime in the future, things were going to work out okay. Things would be fine. That it would be nothing more than a painful memory. The person who _could_ have said all those things was no longer here.

But he would live because of it. Sure, he would live on hating me, but he would live.

That was one of the greatest gifts I could ever give him.

But maybe I hadn't really known Paul as well as I thought when I'd made these assumptions. I heard a knock on the door.

He wasn't a pushover; he wouldn't let me go with just my mumbled, weak and pathetic excuses.

I should have known he'd come back.

"Open the door, Suze!"

I hugged my cushion in protest. The harder I held it, the more fleeting security I felt. Especially when I heard his next sentence:

"I _know_ you're in there. Open the goddam door!"

I screwed my face up, and felt the itchiness behind my eyes, before my vision started to blur. "I don't want to see you!" I shrieked. I clutched the pillow tighter.

There was a pause. "I don't believe you."

I bit my lip. "Well…you should!"

Ooh. That told him.

Finally, _finally_, I heard him sigh in resignation, and his footsteps receding off the porch.

I exhaled, and let a few tears fall. It was silent, once more.

Minutes passed. Paul was gone.

Then I heard one of the kitchen windows creak open. I froze, so stiff. Nothing moved as I sat there on the couch.

Oh…god.

I tried to move. I tried to pry my goddam ASS _off_ that couch, and pelt towards the front door. Or to try and find the sharpest, spikiest, most hazardous weapon ever.

Naturally, I was leaning towards the latter option, but I could only put that plan into motion if I moved…which wasn't happening.

I heard feet hit the floor, which caused my stomach to do the same. The temperature dropped a few degrees, and my heart started racing.

If it was Michael's feet, there is no definition as to how screwed I would be.

Clumsily, I threw the cushion over my shoulder and clambered up, grabbing the nearest tea light holder. As far as weapons went, it wasn't the most effective, but…

I was gripped with sudden adrenaline.

If this _was_ Michael, I was going to meet him head on, just like I had with the countless ghost situations of my youth. I'd make him wish he never met me.

I would _not_ be another body to add to his tally. I _wouldn't_. So I was just going to have to improvise, just like I used to.

Squaring my shoulders, I inhaled deeply, gripping the tea light holder, and stalked into the kitchen.

I didn't know whether to faint from relief, or abuse the man standing there despite.

"Paul!" I glared at him, shoving the tea light onto the kitchen bench in frustration. He didn't move from his leaning position against the sink. His arms were folded, and he was regarding me with a coolness I wasn't used to. "Why did you do that? You nearly gave me a heart attack."

He didn't reply at first. Finally, he said, "Sorry." He didn't make it sound the least bit sincere. Paul just kept looking at me.

I darted my eyes around frantically, although I knew there was nothing—or no one—to help me. Being with Paul was now going to pose a new danger.

"I think you should go," I finally replied.

Paul shifted his weight to the other leg. "No."

I crossed my arms in front of me in defiance. "I don't want you here, so you should leave."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

Paul didn't respond to that. My heart was beating fast, and I didn't know what to do about it. I was trapped…in my own house. This realisation almost made me start crying. Couldn't he see that this was something I had to do? I couldn't live through losing him as well. "Please, just go away…please."

I had barely whispered the words, but I knew that he'd heard me.

He stood, defiant, in his place. "You're lying. Just like you lied before about not needing me. You do." His gaze, resolute and strong, never left mine.

I shook my head furiously, my tears sprinkling down my cheeks…he could see my tears. "I'm not _lying_. I don't need here right now. Please, just GO." I was choking on my frustration.

Instead of leaving, he just stepped forward.

No…if he got too close…

I stepped back. "Paul, go away."

He shook his head, and stepped forward again.

"No. Stop…stop walking. _Leave_. I-I'll call the police if you come any closer."

"Empty threats, Suze. That's all you've ever been. I believed you before, but I won't now. You want me out?" He put his hands in his pockets. "You'll have to throw me out with your own bare hands."

My lip trembled. Paul saw this, and took another step forward. I took another back.

"You'll have to touch me. And you won't, because if you do, you won't be able to lie to me anymore."

I snorted in righteous indignation. "You are so full of yourself."

Another step.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes? Well, we'll have to see if what I'm saying is true. God knows, most of the time I'm the only one out of the two of us who is honest."

I gasped. "That is so unfair." I hiccupped, breathing in heavily. How could he be so harsh? Especially so soon after… "You have no idea."

"No idea? Because you never _gave_ me one, that's why. You'd rather create fabrications than be honest. How do you think that makes _me_ feel, Suze?"

I stepped back again, as far as I could, until my spine rammed into the wall. I winced, and rubbed my forehead in frustration. "I-I can't deal with this at the moment, Paul. Please…I want you to go."

"Su-"

"LEAVE!" I shouted, more tears falling.

He strode forward. "I won't." My eyes widened as, in a fluid motion, he put both arms either side of my head, and leant down so his face was less than a hand's width away. I shrank back into the wall, but there was only so far I could go.

"Wh…what are you…" I trailed off breathlessly, scared at the look that was in his eyes. Anger, frustration, sadness, something else…they were all mixed in a vortex of icy blue. He was searching through me. It made me feel so transparent. "Why?" I whispered weakly. Why couldn't he just go? Why couldn't he make this any easier for me?"

"Why? Because I'm not giving up on us, Suze. I'm not giving up on you."

I let my head hit the wall, shutting my eyes. I could feel his breath on my cheek.

"I love you."

My heart lurched, like it always did, in happiness at those three words. It was a reminder that, amidst all my faults, someone still managed to find something in me to love.

Too bad it was the same person I had to push away.

"And you know what else?" he continued on, "I _know_ you. I know that you push the hardest when you need help the most."

My mouth fell open to object, but no sound came out. Because he was telling the truth. He was right, as usual. All I wanted was for him to be holding me, protecting me. Making me feel safe behind an invisible shield.

But this was _me_ protecting him. I had to do this for his wellbeing. Maybe after all of this…

Until then, though, I had to stand where I was.

I shook my head. "You're insane." I lowered my head until my eyes were locked on his. Then I used the words I knew would hurt him more than any other insult I could give out. "You're crazy." I lengthened out the words, letting them have their full affect.

Paul had once confided in me that the worst thing someone could say to him was that he was crazy. And I'd just done it.

His eyes hardened a little, and his jaw locked into place. I suddenly felt very fragile and small, encased in this barrier he had made. He started to glare at me, and it felt like it was pricking at my skin. Those eyes…they were scary. They were confining.

I felt like I had to escape. The room I had between us was growing smaller and smaller.

The look in his face was almost murderous. Maybe he would…

_No_. I knew Paul. He wasn't like that. But he was _mad_. I'd pissed him off.

Finally he spoke, his words quick and low, but cutting. "So this is how you are going to cope with your mother's death, is it? You're going to degrade all those around you, until there is nothing left? Bring us all down with you?"

A few tears came free. "Don't say that."

"What? That your mother is dead?"

The tears were coming so much more forcefully now. For him to say it the way he did…

"I think I can say it. It's true, isn't it?"

I let loose a sob.

I couldn't…couldn't think of her. It was painful, like I was wrenching the sobs directly from my chest. Paul swam in front of me. Then I completely broke down. I hid behind my hands, trying to be as quiet as possible.

"…How could you do this to me? You…" I whispered.

I felt his arms enclose around me. I seized up at the contact, wrenched my hands away from my eyes, and put them on his chest, to push him away. I didn't want him to comfort me. Not after…

"You had no right," I seethed in deadly undertones, trying to push him off of me. His grip was strong. "Get OFF me!" I demanded, pushing even harder, more tears falling down my face. But he ignored me, and instead hugged me tighter.

After a few moments of pointless struggling, I gave up, and cried, sobbing into his chest. I felt him put his chin on the top of my head, and hold me securely. He didn't say anything else.

We stood there for a long time, until I'd almost forgotten why I was so upset.

I shifted my head, putting my hands on his shoulders. I wasn't crying so hard now, but I didn't really feel much better either. Paul leant down and kissed the top of my head. I closed my eyes, revelling in the sensation. Against my better judgement, I lifted my head up a little, so my forehead was resting against his neck.

I felt safe in his arms, even though I shouldn't have.

Paul shifted, and his neck came into contact with my lips. My eyes opened in surprise. It felt like I'd been jolted. I shivered at the contact, heat flowing through me.

I can't explain what happened to me, but the combination of fear, sorrow, love and need all spilled over in a wave of emotion. Before I could think, or regain my senses, I was frantically kissing his neck, trailing up to his face, like he'd disappear if I paused for too long.

He went very still.

"Suze? What are-" he cupped my cheeks with his hands so he could draw back and look at me, confusion evident on his face. Recklessly, I put my own hands behind his head, and kissed him on the lips with so much force, I think I took both of us by surprise.

I'm sure he was wondering what was going through my head, what was driving me to practically attack him with my lips, but after a few seconds he'd obviously caught on and responded with a passion that almost equalled my own, pushing me up against the wall.

I pressed myself up against him, unable to get close enough. After the emotional rollercoaster I'd been on in the past few days, I just needed something I didn't have to think about.

I needed to experience more than just loneliness, and fear, and blind hate…

I wanted him near me, as close as he could be. I wanted to feel his bare skin, his caressing touch, his hands on my lower back pulling me even closer to him. I wanted to feel his arms, like a constant shield, around me and protecting me like they had before.

It had seemed like it had been so long ago, the last time we'd been so close together. In reality, it had only been a week.

To me, it had felt so much longer than a week…

I was being selfish.

I forgot about the promise I'd made, to stay away and keep him from danger. I didn't care.

I refused to think about anything other than the way everything felt: his lips on my collarbone, trailing downwards, his hands splayed on my hips, drawing me close…I was struggling for oxygen, breathing in ragged gasps as I held the back of his neck, my other hand entangled in his hair.

I walked us into the lounge room, where the television was still flashing, mute. I pushed him onto the ground, moving over him, kissing his jaw, his neck, the space of skin exposed just above his shirt…

He groaned, holding me close, and then started shifting his weight, trying to flip us over. I kept my hands on his shoulders, pushing down, and deliberately staying where I was, refusing. I didn't feel like being submissive for even a minute, not even to Paul. Not after everything that had happened.

I became apathetic, once more. I didn't listen to any logical part of my brain, telling me to stop. I was doing what I wanted.

I'd just wanted to feel.

I woke quickly, the breath caught in my lungs. Paul was breathing right in front of me, our arms both around each other's waists, and my chest against his. I was pulled tight to him, like he was still protecting me even though he was sleeping. It was a wonderful feeling…but it wasn't right.

What had I done?

I bit my lip to stop any sounds of frustration that might have escaped me. Why was I always so weak? Why had I given in?

…Why had I been so selfish, yet again?

I bowed my head, and shut my eyes tightly. I wanted to seek comfort in his arms again, but I was suddenly too cold. I'm sure that, had Paul been awake, he would have felt the instant temperature change on my skin. But he wasn't. He was sleeping peacefully, his mouth tugged up in one corner, all the trouble in the world gone for the moment.

I wished I could be like that, even for a few minutes. But I couldn't.

My world was spinning off its axis, and it wouldn't balance until I'd gone up against Michael, and he'd gotten what he deserved.

But I knew what would happen when I went after him. It would definitely be the last time I did so. I'd gotten lucky way too many times. Besides, he knew my tactics now. He knew how I fought back. He knew the little tricks I used to get ahead.

So if I failed, I'd be in a lot of trouble. Well, until I died, anyway.

Lying there, I had no idea what to do. I'd already done what I'd promised myself not to do, and now…I'd have to find some way to make Paul leave again. I felt like crying all over again, just looking at him.

I didn't know if I could do it again. The first time had hurt enough.

When had things gotten so complicated? Would this all have happened if I hadn't antagonised Michael? What about if I went back to the day when I made the decision on my independent case? If I'd taken a different one, would it all still play out the same?

What if. It's a nice phrase. Two words that condemn you.

Biting my lip, I slowly eased myself out of his grasp. My hip and shoulder were numb from the hard floor. I peeled off the blanket Paul had thought to throw over us last night, and stumbled onto my feet. Without looking back, I walked out of the room, and into the shower, feeling vulnerable.

I didn't know what to do.

He was dressed and in the kitchen when I returned from the shower. I walked in awkwardly, watching him. He was attractive as ever, a shadow of facial hair gracing the lower half of his face.

Paul had changed so much. He was still as confident and arrogant as he'd always been, but there was softness to the edges. Even when we were children, I'd always known there was more to him than what others saw. He'd always had a strong hold over me.

It was about to be severed.

"You're still here," I observed casually.

He nodded, as if it was obvious. "Of course."

I sighed, and walked up to the bench, leaning on it. "Look…last night was-"

"Don't."

I stopped. He looked a little angry. "Don't say it was a mistake. It wasn't."

I bit my lip and looked at him reluctantly. "Paul, it was great, okay. I give you that."

His face was guarded. "So what's the problem?"

I ran a hand through my wet hair. "Um…do you know what a one night stand is?"

His eyes were like steel. They looked dangerous. "Of course I know what it is. What is this _about_?"

"Last night was a one night stand, Paul."

His face screwed up in confusion. He walked over to the other side of the bench I was leaning on. "What the hell are you talking about? We're _engaged_, remember?"

I just blinked up at him dumbly, as if he was missing a very big, obvious thing, and slowly raised my left hand for him to see. My ring finger was bare, as it had been for the last week. "We're not. We haven't been since last week. We're…_nothing_, Paul."

Paul stepped back like I'd burnt him, his face changing. "Are you kidding? Please tell me you're joking."

I slowly shook my head.

He looked at me for a very long time. His eyes were searching for anything…anything to contradict what I'd just said, anything to save us. But he wouldn't find anything. I'd made sure of that.

"You…you're serious…" he noted. He looked so hurt I felt like taking it all back. I felt lower than I'd ever felt before…because I was deliberately hurting him.

To see someone you love in pain is one thing. To be causing it is another thing entirely.

I didn't say anything in response.

Finally, he stepped back, and grabbed his jacket from the lounge room. Then he walked past, and stopped in front of the door, looking at me down the hallway. "If you want me gone, then I'm gone."

His voice wasn't pleading. It wasn't even soft. It was cold, and harsh.

"I do."

Looking at me one last time with an unreadable emotion, he opened to door, and slammed it behind him. I watched the door for a good few seconds, breathing steadily, before turning away.

I could have collapsed, right there, and let it all out in a torrent of tears. But I didn't. I had work to do.

I had to get rid of Michael. The hatred I felt towards him was more than I'd ever felt before. I couldn't see anything else except my need to make sure he was punished. I'd have to be the one to do it, too.

Paul finding me had been proof I couldn't stay hidden forever. Michael would find me eventually. At least this way, I'd have the upper hand.

It would be me or him.


	38. Chapter ThirtySeven

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

**DECEMBER 2007**

Everything was still the same, I noticed, as I walked down the familiar hallways.

I was nervous, but at the same time I had an edge to my strides. I had things to do, and I had to do them. I had a plan.

I passed Vicki on the way through, but didn't even acknowledge her. Vicki's "Hey…Suze…" faded into hurt silence as I proceeded down the hall. I dodged my ex-boyfriend, Dominic, giving him similar treatment.

My eyes drifted to my door, as I passed. My name was no longer there, but they hadn't replaced me, even though it had been over a month since I'd quit.

I reached the end of the hall and knocked on the door, heaving a deep sigh. After a few moments, Nicola opened it. She frowned, before opening it fully, ushering me in. I sat down and she sat behind her desk. She typed a few words into her computer, before turning her attention to me fully. "So, what brings you here?"

"I need help."

There was no need to beat around the bush. I did.

She raised her eyebrow cynically. I could feel her attention slipping away by the second. "Help?" Nicola typed a few more words. "To be completely honest with you, Miss Simon, I don't think you deserve help."

I had been prepared for that, too.

I leant forward, plastering an overly polite smile on my face. "Now, you see, that's where you and I differ. I _deserve_ help."

Her fingers continued typing on the keyboard. Finally, she minimised whatever she was doing, and looked at me in her chair, biting her pen instead. "We _do_ differ. I can't give you help."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off, pushing her glasses up her nose a little. "This is due to the fact that, as of nearly five weeks ago, you ceased to be an employee of this task force. Your decision," she pointed the pen at me condescendingly, wiggling it on her fingertips, "not mine."

She trailed off, not needing to say anything else.

"It was all due to regard for personal safety, I assure you. The case is still going."

Nicola didn't respond, so I took that as permission to let it rip.

"Okay, this is my situation in a nut-shell. I took the wrong case, I pissed off the wrong guy, and he's turned out to be a sadistic serial killer. He's already killed my mother, and he's still stalking me." Nicola tried to interrupt, but I cut her off. "And all due respect to your task-freaking-force, but he's escaped from the police. I'm in trouble."

Her mouth twisted into something of a grimace. She sat there, looking at me, thinking hard. Then, without a word, she picked up the phone, pressed a number, and spoke in a low undertone to someone.

"I'll wait until Derek gets here," she said simply, hanging up.

I guess there are some things in this world she and her French-twisted hair can't handle. I stared her down.

A few minutes later there was a knock, and Derek entered. I smiled wanly at him, and was greeted with a confused look.

"Miss Simon. You've come to visit us."

"She wants help, Derek." Nicola's voice dripped of underlying meaning.

I repeated my predicament to him; he ended up sitting on the desk near me. His face was twisted into sympathy.

"Yes, I did hear about your mother. My condolence-"

"I don't want your freaking condolences. I need help. This guy is going down." I was standing by the end of my sentence, looking him solidly in the eye. If they were trying to intimidate me, it wouldn't work. I'd been through too much already.

He nodded, looking at his hands, and then finally brought his gaze up to me. It was still sympathetic, but there was an edge to them. "Yes, I can understand your distress. But, unfortunately, we cannot do anything to help you. Our very survival as an organisation is based heavily on our secrecy. Helping you would put us at risk of exposure, and especially considering you are no longer an employ-"

I almost snapped. I didn't want to hear that, right now. "You're similar to a black ops organisation, right?"

Nicola nodded. "Yes, as we've just informed you."

I looked at them like they were missing something. "Which means you're above the police, yes?"

They nodded.

"And your authority is equal, if not more, to the FBI?"

They nodded again.

"Then I don't see a problem. You can hide your involvement. Don't bullshit to me about exposure."

Derek stood up and looked down at me with finality. "We cannot help you, Miss Simon. As much as it pains me to say, you are just going to have to hope the police can do their job." He nodded to Nicola, and went to leave.

Months ago, I would have accepted his decision, but not now. If he thought I was going to take what he'd said as an ending to the conversation, he was incredibly wrong. I darted around him, and barred the door, crossing my arms.

I was on autopilot once more. That was the only way I was able to go through with this.

"I don't think so. I'll give my respect where it's due, of course, but the thing is, you _can_ help me, and you _will_."

Derek looked over his shoulder at Nicola, whose eyebrows were raised in shock.

"Is that a threat, Miss Simon?" Derek ventured carefully.

I smiled at him without feeling. "Yes. I believe what I just said constituted as a threat. Now, sit."

"No."

"Sit," I pressed. "You are _going_ to want to sit."

Something in my voice made him comply. I stood in front of them. "I've been a part of this organisation for long enough to know how it works, who is involved, and what goes on around here."

They both watched me, unsure.

"You worry about exposure through involvement? I can _guarantee_ your exposure if you don't help by merely calling the nearest newspaper. I have contacts in the journalism department," I bluffed. Cee Cee was long gone by now.

Nicola threw her pen down on the desk. "You wouldn't. No one would believe you."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "People believe in aliens, UFOs, Area 51. We live in a world full of conspiracy theorists." I leant close to her, lowering my voice. She pulled back a little. "They'll believe it."

Derek was looking incredibly pissed off. With reason, I guess. "Then we can just sue you for defamation."

"I'm not defaming anyone if it's true. You know that."

He set his jaw. "Do you want everyone to lose their jobs? Stop doing what we do? Without us, some cases remain cold and unsolved. You want to ruin that?"

I was too far gone to care. "Yes, if that's what needs to be done, I'll do it." I took their silence as a done deal. "Great. So I'll need protection in the form of armed agents. You can cover it up anyway you want. I don't care. As long as we get Michael, and put him in a cell to rot."

There was a long silence. Nicola was gnawing the end of her pen, looking at Derek worriedly. Finally, he stood up and offered his hand reluctantly, as if he didn't even want to touch my skin. "Fine. Consider it a deal."

I smirked in achievement.

There is a reason the word 'black' is in blackmail. There is nothing light about it. In truth, it is an extremely dirty tactic of getting what you want. Some would go as far to say its use occurs on the brink of desperation.

I was past desperate, actually.

I shook it, and he tightened his grip around my hand, pulling me close. I stumbled.

Derek hissed angrily in my ear. "But that is the _last thing_ we are ever doing for you. After this, I don't want to hear from you, ever again."

I pulled my hand out of his, flexing it, and smiled. "Deal."

The microwave beeped, and I took the popcorn bag out, inhaling. It smelt delicious. The bag shuddered as a few more kernels popped. I shook it out, opening it gingerly as I looked outside the kitchen window.

The view was very different to Paul's. My stomach heaved; my heart twinged in pain.

I hadn't seen him since I'd told him to leave. I still couldn't believe I'd done it, and done it so well. He'd bought it this time.

He'd thought I'd meant every word.

Itchiness was spreading behind my eyes, but I shook my head to stop it. I couldn't break down now. If I did, then I wouldn't stop. I still had things to do. I had to make myself, and everyone else, safe. There would be plenty of time to cry later…if it worked.

But still, the _look_ on his face. I'd gone too far this time; his eyes were like ice, like they used to be before we started dating. I could no longer read them, not that I really could before. I'd done the right thing, I told myself. I'd used the right method; I'd said the right thing. He was too self-assured to believe that I was seeing someone else. I had to go a little deeper than that.

I shovelled a handful of popcorn into my mouth, not even registering the taste. All I could feel was the loneliness creeping in, the turning of my stomach as I thought about Paul…

I set down the popcorn bag and began wondering around aimlessly, without a purpose. I stopped and looked at the paintings on the wall, rearranged the flowers…my mind was on other things.

Then, I suppressed a chill that I'd become all-too familiar with. I knew it before I saw it.

A dark figure slunk around the doorframe to my right, leaning up against it casually. I swallowed, turning to look at Michael. He was still wearing that same leather jacket, the same self-assured posture.

I didn't want to know how he'd managed to find my old place. How he'd gotten in. I had to play it cool, even though the very sight of him made my heart surge with the purest kind of hatred. Where you didn't believe death was enough punishment.

I _hated_ him. I hadn't even understood what the word really meant, until now.

Despite my racing heart, I set down the vase I'd been picking at, and regarded him calmly.

"Michael."

"Suze," he replied in greeting. "Nice to see you again. Sans knife, I'm hoping?"

I smiled smugly. "I may have a frying pan tucked inside my bra."

He smiled without humour. It was a dangerous smile. He shrugged off the wall, and started walking towards me.

Pure fear kept me rooted to the spot, but I kept smiling politely, holding my breath.

"I have a proposition for you, Suze Simon."

"And normally I'd love to hear it. Honestly. But I'm not interested in any propositions at this present time," I replied, turning and walking back towards the kitchen. Albeit, not the smartest move in the world, but I didn't want to stand there until he was within radius to cause damage.

I could hear him following, laughter on his breath. "Well, you don't have much of a choice."

My eyes widened, but I kept walking, my back still turned to him. "Threat?"

The irony in this conversation was not lost on me.

"You could say that."

I turned on my heel, and stood rooted to the spot. "You can't do that," I told him, more confidently than I felt. Hate laced my words; I let my eyes tell him how much I despised him.

He smirked, his eyes glinting. "Well, if you don't want certain people to join your mother, I suggest you listen."

The fire inside of me flashed. I wished I could cut the smile out of his face, if only so he could share some of my pain. He was the worst kind of person…

And he was _enjoying_ this.

"Don't you think you've done enough?"

He shrugged. "Look at it this way: come with me, and they don't have to be hurt." I didn't answer, so he continued. "Cee Cee, Adam, Vicki? Andy? Your stepbrothers…Jake and Brad and David, yes? And of course, the fiancée, too. They all have heads to lose."

"You speak like you know what you're talking about. Cee Cee and Adam are gone. Paul…he had his use. But he means nothing to me," the stab of pain that went through me proved otherwise. "None of them do. The others aren't my real family. What makes you think that threatening to kill them will be good enough incentive for me to come with you?"

"Because you're lying."

"I'm not."

He didn't miss the way I set my jaw. "You are. I did notice that your friends have jumped ship. But they can be found. And as for Paul…" his voice faded, replaced with a wicked smirk. My stomach vacated my body, I'm sure. "Well, he always pissed me off, anyway. Guys like Paul…the world needs less of them, in my opinion."

Despite my fear and the rising bile in my throat, I snorted. "The world needs fewer guys like you, psychotic as you are."

His eyes felt like they were piercing my skin. "So you're declining the offer, then?"

I couldn't answer. There was no doubt that Michael would do it. He would find every single one of them, and kill them. He would relish it. And then he'd return to take care of me.

I couldn't see any other option. I'd have to find some way…

Some way, how? It's not like I'd be able to sumo-wrestle him, or anything.

Michael was grinning. I swallowed, and jutted my chin out. I'd just have to play along. "No, I'm taking it. However…I have some conditions."

He leant forward, his face mere inches from mine. My breath caught in my lungs. "Suze…you're in no position to make demands."

"Oh, I _am_. If I go with you, I'll quietly. But you will not hurt anyone afterwards. It's not like you have a motive after you're finished with me anyway, right?"

He nodded, and then hesitated. Disbelief coloured his tone. "You're willing to walk out your front door with me?" I nodded. "Right now?"

"What, is right now not convenient for you?"

Michael narrowed his eyes at me, looking around quickly. I worked to keep my face neutral, even when his gaze returned to me, sending chills down my spine. Then, without warning, he turned and bolted. Without thinking, I pursued him, but he'd disappeared out the back door.

Shit. I felt like smacking my head into the wall when my phone rang. Kneading my forehead with my palm, I looked at the caller ID. It was Nicola, probably calling from outside.

"We didn't have enough time to secure the house. We missed him, Suze."


	39. Chapter ThirtyEight

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

**PRESENT TIME**

"You look like you're thinking hard."

Candace sat next to me and slapped my knee, pulling me out of my reverie.

"I wasn't," I lied. I'd been sitting there for the better part of the afternoon, thinking about everything that had been happening. Thinking about Paul, about Jesse, about the plan; I'd even been daring to contemplate life as a free woman. It was a dangerous topic to entertain thoughts about, but I'd been doing it all the same.

"Sure," Candace said. She crossed her legs and faced me, the breeze blowing her brown hair around her face like a shampoo commercial. "How are things with Paul?"

He'd be happy to know he hadn't lost his touch. Candace looked almost worshipful at the mention of his name.

"They aren't."

"That's too bad. So it's over?"

I nodded. "He…it's just too much. There will never be a middle ground between us."

"You could try."

"You don't know Paul, or what we've been through. It wouldn't work."

"Does Paul know that?"

The look I gave her was assured. "Of course he does."

"Then why is he visiting you, all of a sudden? You said that up until a few weeks ago, you hadn't seen him in nearly four years."

I didn't have an answer I could give her. I could have said that it was because there was an opportunity I could be leaving…but that was like telling a starving person that someone was bringing you food they couldn't eat. So I settled on the safest answer I could think of, which was:

"I have no idea."

Unfortunately for me, at that moment one of the wardens approached, letting me know that I had a visitor. Paul. Candace gave me a yeah-yeah-right look.

"Yep. There's definitely nothing happening."

I followed the warden towards the visiting room. Paul was sitting at one of the tables, looking bored. His expression didn't change once I entered and sat in front of him; if anything, it just became more remote. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, looking at the security guards out the corner of his eye.

"I came here to talk about a deal." His voice was low, like he was trying not to draw attention.

"I'm listening," I murmured.

"It's not ideal."

I shrugged. "It can't be much worse than what I'm already living through."

Paul raised one of his eyebrows. He needed to shave, I noticed. I wondered if he and Marcia were working things out, if she had moved back home. I didn't want to care, but I did.

"The task force are a real quid-pro-quo set of guys. They won't release you unless you do a few things for them."

"Spit it out, Paul. What's the deal?"

"Six months of service, using your gift openly and without exception," my stomach turned over, "...another confidentiality contract. Did you want me to go on?"

I looked at him incredulously. "There's more?"

Paul nodded. "They trust you about as much as you trust them. Did you really think they'd just let you leave after four years with nothing in their favour?"

Actually, I had. Clearly it had been wishful thinking on my part.

"They'll own you for the rest of your life, Simon. Sure, six months service…but you'll never truly be able to start over once you get back out. Who would hire you, really? A media-given reputation is a hard one to reverse. The six months is really just the gateway to the rest of your life, and they know it."

I bit my lip, leaning back on my chair. The guards were watching us closely, but I wasn't seeing them at all. As always, Paul had been brutally honest. "It's definitely six months?" I asked him, my gaze on the corner of the room, unable to look at him.

In my peripheral vision I could see Paul cocking his head to the side. "You did hear what I said, didn't you Simon? Six months. But it won't be six months."

"But in the deal?"

"You'll be contracted to six months."

"And I'll be free to leave afterwards?"

"Technically."

"And this confidentiality contract?"

"Pretty much stating you can't say…well, everything you told the court. And I believe your re-admittance into this fine institution is one of the consequences if you do."

"I won't be making that mistake twice."

"They're counting on it."

I swallowed, and nodded, looking at him. "Tell them I accept."

Paul's eyes were reluctant. "You're sure about this?"

I cleared my throat, dropping my gaze to my lap. "I…I can't stay here, Paul. It's like a prison," I whispered. I shook my head quickly, feeling the tell-tale itching behind my eyes. "So that's it?"

I could feel him watching me carefully. He leant forward, leaning on his elbows. His mouth was hidden behind his hands, but I could still hear him clearly. "We need to talk about what happened last week."

I _so_ didn't want to go down this road. "I thought we already had?"

"Not to my liking."

"You're married, Paul." My words were defensive, the first I could come up with.

"We're not talking about Marcia right now, we're talking about us."

My hands were now knotting around each other. I had known that the man I was looking at was no longer the Paul I used to know, but that last sentence proved it. I despised Marcia, but she was still his wife. I took a shuddering breath, knowing my next words wouldn't be received well. "There is no _us_, Paul. Not anymore."

His hands dropped to the table. "Because of Jesse, right?"

I couldn't deny it. I could feel him getting angry. "Thought as much. Obviously what I said to you just went through one ear and out the other."

"I know what I'm doing," I told him.

Paul's jaw locked, and he looked like he was contemplating something. "Good to see you looked before you fell," he said. Then he leant down, and grabbed something that was sitting on the floor next to his chair; I didn't know what it was until he threw it in front of me. I looked at him carefully. "What's this?"

He crossed his arms. "You tell me, Simon. What is it?"

It may have been my intuition, but it was most likely just common sense. I didn't want to see what was inside the folder. I knew I wouldn't like it, because I knew Paul, and I knew, despite everything that had happened between us he hadn't wanted to resort to this. He had hoped to convince me with just words alone.

I considered handing it back to him, but I've never been good with not knowing. So I opened it, and frowned when I recognised the picture. I looked up at Paul questioningly, but his face gave nothing away.

"How did you get this?"

"I know people, Simon. We've been over this."

I could feel my stomach sinking to my toes and goose bumps erupt over my arms as I read further, flicking over one page after another. I only made it through three pages before closing it and pushing it back over to Paul, feeling numb.

"Congratulations," I told him, squeezing my eyes shut and opening them again, rubbing my hands over my face. "You definitely just won this round."

I left before he could reply.

I avoided everyone for the rest of the day, torturing myself with what I had learned. When I was put to bed that night, I didn't sleep one minute. I watched the sun rise with a kind of stilted resolution; I wouldn't be able to hide from what I had learnt for forever. I wasn't able to do anything about it until Jesse approached me while I was leaving the breakfast hall. I didn't speak as he gestured for me to follow him.

We passed several other patients walking with wardens, and he ended up leading me to an outside area that looked like it was rarely used. I took a moment to wonder if it was _supposed_ to be used, then decided I didn't care. I wouldn't be here for long.

It was only when Jesse turned around did he seem to sense my mood. "You're angry. Is everything okay?"

I shrugged. I was tired, I realised. I couldn't even muster up any anger, although it would have been justified. Instead I just looked at the man who had worked his way underneath my skin even further than I had realised, reminding myself I hadn't learnt a goddamn thing in the last four years when it came to trust.

"Paul came to visit me yesterday." I sounded detached. I _wanted_ to be detached.

Jesse nodded. "He told you about the plan."

"And then some."

"But that's not why you're angry."

I shook my head. "No…" I sighed, and looked at him, watching for his reaction. "Your name isn't Jesse."

He was good. I barely saw the surprise flit across his face before he regained his composure. I saw him swallow. "Did Paul tell you that?"

"He showed me your profile. I was just wondering when you were planning on letting me know you weren't a real doctor."

He raked his fingers through his hair. "I am, actually. I'm just not technically qualified in the area of psychiatry."

"Your name isn't Jesse," I repeated.

He shook his head.

"It's Hector?"

Jesse—I mean, Hector—nodded his head. "My nickname is Jesse," he stated, like that changed everything.

"And you're employed under the same task force I was a member of nearly four years ago?"

"I am."

"So, what…you were sent here to watch me?" I could feel moisture creep into my eyes; tears that I had been holding back since yesterday, threatening to fall.

"I was," Jesse admitted. He looked like he was being forced to swallow something unpleasant. "I was sent to see if you were still a threat."

Hearing him confirm what I had thought only made me feel worse. "You…you tried to get to talk. As soon as we met, you were trying to get me to talk about the task force, to trick me into confessing."

"I did."

"You knew I wasn't crazy." Out of everything I had learnt from the folder Paul had given me, this was what hurt the most. For me, the fact he had believed me had always been the thing that had set him apart from the others. The fact that when he had helped me I thought it was because he had faith in me.

He had always known the truth; that fact alone painted all his actions with a very different brush.

I felt a tear fall, and I brushed it away impatiently. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

Jesse sighed. "I would have avoided it if I could, because I knew you wouldn't take it well. It was never going to be a good time."

"You are definitely right about that," I replied. I turned and headed for the door, but I felt his hand wrap around my arm and pull me back. I looked at him dangerously, my eyes straying to his arm. "Get your hand off my arm."

He let me go, but his eyes were angry. "You've already judged me, I can see it. You don't want to hear my side of the story?"

"It won't change anything."

I headed for the door again. I had almost walked out when Jesse spoke again. "So that's it? You're just going to walk away?"

I had one hand on the doorknob, looking at the door like it held all the answers, like it would give me some advice on how to act. Instead I sighed. "Yes, I am. Can you blame me?"

Clearly he did. His voice was hard; I'd never heard Jesse raise his voice at _me_ before. "I can't believe you won't even give me a chance to explain myself. I made a mistake, but you _know_ who I am."

The look I gave him over my shoulder was as final as they come. "I didn't, Jesse. That's my point."

His next few words stopped me in my tracks. "Paul may have mentioned that you had a problem telling the truth yourself."

The door, which I had flung open, hit me on my shoulder as I stood in the doorway. I grabbed it and shut the door quickly, turning to face him. The temperature in the room was lowering rapidly. "That has nothing to do with you." My expression was acidic.

"No, it doesn't. I haven't known you as long as he has, or as well, but I know you don't lie without good reason. Did you keep something from him because you knew it would hurt him if you told him the truth?"

"Stop psychoanalysing me. You're not a real doctor."

"I'm right, aren't I?"

I shook my head. "This is different."

"I don't see a difference at all."

"You did everything for your own personal gain," I spat, opening the door once more. "It makes me sick."

He raised an eyebrow. "Double standards, Susannah."

I couldn't think of anything to say in response. I only hesitated for a few moments, before letting the door shut behind me.

The only thing I could focus on as I left was putting as much distance between Jesse and myself as possible. I was almost too angry to cry. Besides, I didn't want the inconvenience of having to explain myself if a warden happened to notice I looked upset. Instead I concentrated on finding a place I could fall to pieces in private.

I turned the corner into a deserted hallway towards the back of the institution. I knew from memory it was one of the lesser-used areas in the institution, and I had a lower chance of being discovered.

Or so I thought.

I'd found a tiny alcove near a staff bathroom. The paint on the door was peeling and a quick look inside showed the sinks and floor dusty from misuse. Satisfied I closed the door again and sank into the corner opposite, sliding down the wall until I was sitting on the floor.

The silence only seemed to amplify my emotions; the only sound I could hear was my own breathing, stuttering and deep. I was upset, and yet I didn't know why I was. Surely, after everything the task force had thrown my way, surely I should have expected something like this. I should have known they wouldn't play fair, that ethics weren't a language they spoke…I should have known.

I should have known that there was something behind Jesse's interest. I'd been egotistical, so desperate for a little piece of comfort in another person that I'd been an easy target.

Of course, there were things Jesse had done that just didn't add up; letting me escape the institution, for one thing. Helping Paul. Sticking up for me against all of the other wardens…

But his connection to the task force was something that I simply couldn't look beyond just yet. It was too personal. As I sat there I tried to separate the Jesse I thought I knew from all the new information I'd uncovered, and found I had difficulty doing so.

A few tears had escaped when a shadow fell across my lap. I looked up and squinted; the light bulb above was dimming, as if it was dying a slow, palpitating death. But there was no mistaking the woman standing in front of me.

"What do you want, Sam?" I couldn't decide whether I should be worried that Sam had found me alone, or annoyed that I had been interrupted after all.

I settled on being annoyed.

"Go find another corner to skulk in. This one is taken," I told her snottily.

She folded her arms and observed me like I was an animal on the other side of a pane of glass. "It's been hard to get you alone. You have a puppy dog following you around all the time."

"Her name is Candace."

"I don't care," Sam replied.

I felt the pain before I saw it coming; my head slammed back into the concrete wall from the force of her punch. I was cradling my cheek, swearing like never before, when the second fist came. I managed to divert the blow with my other arm, simultaneously kicking at her shins.

Sam stumbled backwards, tripping over her own feet. Her back hit the wall hard; it gave me enough time to rise. I used the momentum to my advantage, lunging forward to grab her shoulders, pushing her backwards into the wall.

My hold was strong until she gave an animalistic growl and threw her head forward in an attempt to bite my face. Her eyes were feral and dark; I had never seen her look less human than in that one defining moment. Shock momentarily stunned me and I let her shoulders go. When she swung her hand towards my face, I didn't react fast enough.

Her fingernails raked down my cheek, deep and painfully, and I cried out. Tears flooded my vision; I doubled over, clutching my face, and let instinct take over. My elbow sunk into her torso. Sam's holler echoed through the hallway, letting me know I had hit her in the right place.

I had enough sense to know that this was a fight I might lose, and badly, so at the first chance I had, I made a run for it.

Well, attempted to.

I had run three steps when I felt the hair at the base of my neck tug violently. My feet slid on the linoleum as she pulled me backwards, and I landed flat on my back, feeling all the air leave my lungs. I wheezed, feeling lightheaded, as she stood over me. Her hand went to the top of my head, and she pulled me up by a fistful of hair. I could barely fight back, the pain was so intense.

And then I heard it, the most relieving of sounds: footsteps.

"Help me!" I cried out in desperately, all dignity gone in favour of escaping Sam. She slapped her hand over my mouth, but it was too late; the footsteps increased.

Sam hissed in anger, hooking an elbow around my neck tightly, her hands going to the bathroom door next to us. She had just gotten the door open when the warden arrived, turning the corner and coming to a halt.

Her arm tightened around my neck and I choked, my eyes on Garrett, who was standing there, observing us like he wasn't entirely sure of what he should do. His eyes met mine; his, detached and emotionless and mine, pleading.

In a single movement, he condemned me. Without a word, he spun on his heel and walked away.

I croaked fruitlessly in protest, and then I felt myself being pushed into the bathroom. I landed, sprawling, on the white tiles, dusty and cracked with age and disuse. The door slammed behind me and I turned over, sliding backwards towards the wall, trying to find purchase on the floor. Sam was on me like a fly on honey, and my jaw was forced open. Material was stuffed between my teeth. My hands were bound to the pipe underneath the sink. My legs, the only remaining free limbs that could do damage, kicked at her as she stood at a safe distance.

She wasn't smiling, she wasn't celebrating. Instead she looked at me, stoic. Anger headlined her words.

"You are going to die in this place," she told me, as if she was reading a headline off the newspaper. "If you think you're getting out of here, you're wrong. You don't deserve to."

My protest was muffled, but my eyes sent her a resounding _Fuck You_.

"Finally, a muzzle you can't take off," Sam noted. Then she left me alone, the door closing behind her.


	40. Chapter ThirtyNine

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

**DECEMBER 2007**

When I opened the door to the main board room the next day, I had only been expecting to see Derek and Tony, perhaps Nicola. Instead I was greeted with a room full of familiar faces, expressions ranging from anxiousness to excitement.

"What's this?" I asked, probably more rudely than I intended. It didn't stop Vicki from bounding up to me though, looking mighty proud of herself.

"We're going to help you! Mr Serpatti and Mr Martin have spent the last half an hour debriefing us on your situation, and we've all volunteered to help."

My gaze drifted from Vicki's enthusiastic smile to those standing behind her. I felt my stomach drop when I spotted Paul standing next to Dominic, his arms folded across his chest and returning my stare with a level gaze.

"All…of you?"

Vicki nodded. "For sure. And Suze," she lowered her voice and looked at me sympathetically. "You should have told us sooner. We would have dropped everything to help you."

I was touched by her words, but worry still clung to me like a second skin. "You…you guys don't have to do this for me," I said unsteadily. Some of the people present I only knew by sight, and others I had never seen in my life. I wondered who they were.

"We're doing it," replied Dominic with an edge of finality. "It's the right thing to do."

Paul remained notably silent while Derek and Tony addressed the team, detailing the plan and what each member was expected to do. It was a plan effective in its simplicity; I had the biggest role of them all, which suited me fine.

I was scared, and yet my skin tingled with the thrill of anticipation. It was ending, here and now, good or bad. In a matter of hours, it would all be over.

One by one, we were dismissed so we could get ready. I waited outside the door as they filtered out, giving grim smiles. Paul was one of the last to leave the room, and I intercepted him as he walked past.

I winced as he shrugged his arm out of my grip. I guess I deserved that.

"What do you want?" he asked impatiently.

I bit my lip. "I don't want you doing this. Please."

"Don't treat me like a coward."

He went to walk past me, but I grabbed his arm again, looking at him pleadingly and trying to ignore the way he looked down at me like he would rather be looking at anything—_anybody_—else. I had done irreparable to our relationship; that much was clear. I just hoped I would have the chance after all of this to fix it. I didn't expect forgiveness, but I hoped he would understand. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Please, Paul. I never wanted you involved in all this. I don't want you getting hurt for me."

Paul narrowed his eyes. "None of this is a favour to you, Simon. It's a favour to everyone. We're getting a psychopath off the streets before he kills someone else. It's what we _do_."

I let my arm drop. A moment passed, and I cleared my throat. "Please be careful," I whispered.

His only response was to walk around me and follow the others.

I had received a call from Michael the night before. He had been pissed off; clearly the near-ambush at my house had robbed him of the last of his patience. I had been instructed to meet him at a warehouse on the other side of town later that night, and alone, otherwise the remainder of my family would 'drop like flies'.

Considering he had already wounded me in the most personal way possible by taking away my mother, his words no longer filled me with the fear he was aiming for. If anything, it cemented my resolution to end things as soon as possible.

The warehouse Michael had chosen suited him perfectly: abandoned, degenerating and disturbing. Large empty oil containers may have stood outside, but the warehouse clearly hadn't been used for this purpose for a very long time. It was large and menacing in the darkness; sliding open the side door showed the interior was darker still. I had arrived in one of the cars holding the members of what Vicki had dubbed the 'takedown' mission, and I had been dropped off at the end of the street, left to approach the warehouse alone.

I wanted to enter the dark warehouse with about as much enthusiasm as anyone would want to enter a dark, unknown warehouse that most likely housed a known killer. I was unarmed. I wasn't wearing the same protective clothing the rest of the team were wearing.

At first I'd argued that this was unfair, but I'd been quickly put in my place by one of the team leaders.

"Miss Simon, if you are truly going to sell the idea that you are giving yourself up to Michael, it's probably best that you aren't pointing a gun at him. You're just going to have to trust that we'll cover you."

I remember Dominic giving me a worried look at that. I couldn't blame him; I've never been one to put my wellbeing in the hands of another.

I took a deep breath, darted a look over my shoulder, and walked inside.

My footsteps echoed off the cement. I didn't bother trying to be stealthy; Michael would know I was there, regardless. My heart was pounding loudly in my ears, and my hands were clenched tightly around my flashlight. The light shone over stacked boxes and furniture covered in sheets, fluttering from the light breeze seeping in through the open door. Cobwebs covered the ceiling and corners, and dust covered everything else.

The room I was standing in appeared to be a holding bay, of sorts. There only seemed to be one entrance to the remainder of the warehouse; a set of double doors in the far right corner. With a deep breath I crossed the room and pulled the doors open.

If I expected Michael to be standing behind them, stroking his non-existent moustache evilly, I would have been disappointed. The only thing that did meet me was the musty, stagnant smell of trapped air.

That didn't make the hallway seem any less threatening, however.

Doors lined both sides. Some I found to be locked when I tried to open them, some were simply closed. Others were wide open; two or three looked like they had been kicked in by someone with impressive strength. I shuddered and proceeded to the room beyond.

It was almost as big as the first, leading into two different hallways on either side. I couldn't hear anything apart from my tentative footsteps; if I hadn't have known any better, I would have thought there was nobody in the warehouse at all.

I chose the hallway to my left, because I could see a faint light at the end of it. It was probably a mistake, but I did it anyway. I was halfway down when I realised I had made the right choice; icy wind came at me from two different directions, swirling around my body like a blanket. Goose bumps erupted along my skin, but I found it comforting too. It meant I wasn't alone.

It meant I was close.

He was sitting on a barstool next to an empty table, the only two pieces of furniture in the room. I came around the corner and stumbled to a stop; he nodded to me casually, leaning his arms on his upper legs and talking lowly into the phone at his ear.

"Michael," I said. My voice was strong and resolute. My pulse was thrumming fast, but my breathing was steady.

He snapped his phone shut. "Suze. I was just informed that your team has been taken care of. I told you to come alone."

A defensive lie sat in my throat, but I swallowed it down along with the dread that was slowly rising. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialled Nicola's number.

Michael smirked as I listened to the repetitive ring. When Nicola's voicemail greeted me instead, my stomach sunk even further, my skin prickling. I didn't want to think about why she hadn't answered me. I refused to even contemplate the possibility.

I wouldn't give Michael the satisfaction.

Employing acting skills I never thought I had, I let my face brighten and my voice animate. "Nicola. How are we doing?" I allowed a few moments of silence, before nodding my head. Michael's smirk was slowly disappearing. "Excellent. Yes, I found him." I ended the call and looked at Michael sardonically. "Looks like you're the one who was misinformed. Now, where were we?"

His reply was cut off by the sound of gunfire. Three shots punctuating the silence, from the direction I had come from.

Before I had a chance to react, Michael was gone, running down one of the hallways behind him. I was stunned for only a moment, contemplating what to do. Then I started stalking after him, listening to the quick succession of footsteps and letting the shadows cover me. I moved swiftly and silently, but quickly enough to keep his retreating figure in my sights.

He was running fast, which made him easier to track. His footsteps echoed loudly, disturbing the dust on the floor. I couldn't tell where he was running to—for all I knew, he was leading me into trouble, and I was stupidly following.

But I didn't think so.

His movements contained none of the casual confidence I'd grown used to when dealing with him. He almost seemed…worried.

It took me a few moments to realise that, in the space of three gunshots, our roles had swapped, and I was now the pursuer.

I relished the power while I had it.

Changing my tactics, I turned around and retreated, moving into the hallway that ran parallel to the one I was standing in, ducking into one of the open doorways. I quietened my breathing and waited in silence, listening hard for Michael. I could hear each of my heartbeats, quick and loud, as I waited in the dark. I resisted the temptation to look over my shoulder, just in case he had somehow snuck into the room I was hiding in, and was just about to jump on me.

I was waiting there for so long I was almost convinced I'd made a huge misjudgement, when I heard slow, heavy footsteps coming from the next room over. I smiled in triumph; the entire team had all viewed the blueprints for this particular warehouse before coming, and I had been sure that there were no exits where Michael was running—he would have had to circle back around, at some point.

I crouched; my eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and I could just make out his large figure standing at the end of the hallway I was hiding in. He seemed like he was contemplating something until, alerted by a sound I didn't hear, he made his decision, running down the hallway towards me.

I didn't think, I didn't question. I waited until he was a few steps away and rose, jumping and clocking him in the throat with my forearm as he ran past. He went straight down, releasing a heavy choking sound. I knew exactly how he felt, but it didn't make me sympathetic for one moment.

My booted foot hit the side of his head, sending him rolling. He groaned, and I repeated the action a second time.

I just missed; he rolled to the side quickly, and stood to his feet shakily, pulling a knife out from one of his jacket pockets. I could see the glint of metal in the gloom.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins as he struck out. I dodged it easily, stepping backwards into the room to give myself more room to manoeuvre.

The kick I had given him had clearly done damage; he struck out again, unsure, weak, like he was dizzy.

I leapt back and almost tripped over a stack of buckets. Michael didn't waste any time. He lunged with the knife again, the tip of the blade glinting dimly in the gloom. I ducked, and used a move Paul had taught me during my sessions with Tom, swiping my leg towards the backs of his knees, kicking his legs out from underneath him.

Michael went down one more time, and gave a large groan. Without hesitation, I swung my foot back and kicked him in the head again.

He stopped moving and lay on the floor, limp.

He'd probably come out of this entire thing with brain damage, not that I cared.

Even though I'd knocked him unconscious, I still wasn't feeling any calmer. Adrenaline was surging through my body as I pulled the knife out of his hand and squatted down, watching him cautiously. He looked pitiful; even though he was a large man, he looked perfectly harmless now, almost boyish. Despite this, I leant over him with the knife in my hand, facing down, breathing heavily, my heart in my throat and murder in my eyes.

I could do it. I'd be able to easily write off his death as a result of a scuffle. He had taken so much from me, so much I couldn't take back. He had killed. More, he had _enjoyed_ it.

I could end it all for him just as swiftly as he had ended it for my mother.

My palms were sweating around the handle; indecision filled me like oxygen. I was imagining two different scenarios. One in which I put the knife down, and one in which I would wedge it in Michael's throat.

It would only take a second…I would be the better person. I would make it swift. I wouldn't cause him pain…

…but I wouldn't _ever_ be able to take it back. I thought about all the spirits I had encountered through the years. Some had been victims, some hadn't, but I had tried to treat them without distinction. I had tried to help them, regardless of what they had done on this plane of existence.

I swayed forward, and then pulled back, remembering the first conversation I'd had with Paul after my mother's death. Blind rage had been all the sustenance I'd needed, and when I had left him the first time, he had asked me what I was doing, if I had any idea what I was doing and if it involved some kind of plan, some direction.

I'd turned to him, so sure of my words. "Michael is going down what he's done, Paul. I'll make sure of it."

Instead of surprise, or even shame at what I had said, Paul had merely looked at me with sympathy, like I was a child. "Suze…you're not a killer. So don't talk like one."

If blind hate had been my sustenance, my pride had been my life force. I had insulted him and left, furious that he would presume I would show mercy for a person who clearly had none for me.

But…Paul had been right. He was always right.

The knife clattered to the floor, and a tear slipped down my cheek.

I fumbled with my pocket, pulling out my phone and dialling Nicola's number again. She didn't answer for a long time, and when she did she sounded puffed and hurried.

"Sorry I missed your call, Simon. Michael has a partner we didn't know about."

That explained a lot. "Did you get him?"

"Her. We didn't see her face, only her brown hair, I'm afraid. Whoever it was, they got away."

"I have Michael unconscious in front of my feet," I stated, my eyes scanning the hallway to ensure I was still alone, dragging my fist over my cheek to wipe the tear away.

There was a brief pause, more puffing, and then she spoke again, "Excellent. Strip him of his weapons, and wait there. I'll send some officers. Where are you?"

I explained how to reach my position. Nicola sounded a little approving.

"Sit tight, Simon."

The phone line went dead. I tried to ignore the possibility of being confronted by Michael's partner while I sifted through the folds of his clothing. Alongside the knife he had pulled out, Michael had somehow managed to conceal four more, all varying in sizes and shapes, along with a pair of handcuffs, a roll of tape and several feet of rope. I piled them on the floor next to my feet, keeping a knife in my hand, if only so I didn't feel so vulnerable. I desperately wanted to use to flashlight, but I knew I'd be easier to find by the wrong person if I did.

I could hear Michael breathing from his crumpled position on the floor, and I used his breaths to mark the passing of time. It was close to five minutes before I heard the noise of approach; I counted three different sets of feet.

I stood as they approached—three men that I didn't recognise, their chests covered in bulletproof vests. One of them removed their helmet and nodded to me. I bent down and picked up the pile of weapons, depositing them into his outstretched hands. He looked down at the bundle impassively and nodded to the other two.

One leant down and arrested Michael, the other walked over to me.

"We need to regroup with the team. There are people unaccounted for. Are you right to run?"

I nodded and followed him, looking over my shoulder to see the two men lifting Michael up, holding him between them. "How many?" I asked as I ran alongside him, my voice cracking. I found I couldn't swallow.

"Two men and one woman."

I felt the icy wind again, but this time it wasn't comforting. Dread increased with every step.

The others were already searching rooms by the time we arrived; empty doorways signalled the rooms they had already entered and found empty. Dominic and Derek broke down another door as we approached.

"Find anything?" the man standing next to me asked them. They shook their heads. He reached into his back pocket and turned on an instrument. It had a small screen with vibrant colours.

"Infra-red sensor," he explained, seeing my questioning gaze. The man held out a hand to Derek and Dominic, stopping their movement. "Two doors down," he murmured.

Derek followed what the man said, knocking down the door to his right. We moved inside. The room looked like a storage area for small equipment and tools; shelves lined the walls and the floor space. The man with the sensor went straight for the back of the room, pushing aside a stack of hessian bags. There, lying twisted and unconscious was an agent with a bulletproof vest.

"It's Shane," the man confirmed, his hands pressed against his neck. "He's alive."

I exhaled in relief, stepping aside to let a few men past. They were very obviously paramedics, despite being covered in bulletproof vests also.

"There's another person in here."

One of the men helping the paramedics looked over his shoulder. "You sure, Art? I've searched it."

Art shook his head, showing him the screen. "There's definitely someone else in here."

The agents that weren't assisting the paramedics sprung into action, myself included. Cupboards were opened and boxes were searched. A large storage chest sat on the floor, covered with sheets. I pushed the sheets off and looked inside to find nothing. A quick glance around showed me that the others were having about as much luck as I was. One of them just looked plain frustrated.

"I told you, there is no one else in here. Your sensor must be wrong."

"I doubt it," Art said. "Look harder."

I sighed and shut the chest. It was only then I noticed the pile of sheets I had pushed off the chest were visible, lying in a heap at the same height as the lid; I shouldn't have been able to see them—the chest sat as high as my hips.

Unless…

I leant over and pushed the sheets inside impatiently, my blood icing in my veins when I uncovered the body underneath. He was sandwiched between the concrete wall and the chest, blood seeping steadily from a wound on his forehead.

Paul.

"Here!" my voice was high pitched and a tad hysterical. "Here, he's here!"

I wanted to stay where I was, possibly help or do something, but I was pushed aside unceremoniously as the paramedics descended upon him. One of the agents heaved the heavy chest sideways to make room.

Art's phone began to ring as I leant against the wall, watching them load Paul onto a stretcher similar to Shane's.

I'd seen people unconscious before. Hell, sometimes I'd made them that way. But none of them had ever had bleeding head wounds, the red so stark against their skin that they looked…

Well, dead.

My breath was caught in my throat, and I could feel hysteria rising, building, when Art stood in front of me. He said something, but I wasn't paying attention. The only thing I could focus on, unblinkingly, was Paul's limp body, being handled carefully by the paramedics as they tried to find a pulse on his neck. I watched them carefully until I felt a sharp sting on my cheek.

"Focus, Simon."

I shook my head lethargically and looked up at him. His face was lined, serious.

"They've found the last body."

Art tugged me away from the wall, shepherding me out of the room. I looked over my shoulder, but the paramedics were blocking my view of Paul. It took a few moments for my mind to make sense of what he'd told me.

"Last body?" I asked weakly. He nodded, his expression grim.

"Correct."

I knew he wanted me to walk with him but I hung behind, moving alongside the stretcher that held Paul instead.

"Will…will he be okay?" I asked, almost too scared to know the answer. My voice was still high-pitched; I found myself clutching the material of Paul's pants. Only one paramedic answered, and it was a hurried answer, rushed and unemotional, like it was scripted.

"We don't know just yet."

I stayed next to them until we emerged out into the open. I counted three vans parked outside with their side doors wide open like gaping mouths, the light from the interior spilling out onto the dirt underneath my feet. Paul's stretcher was taken away and moved to an ambulance parked just behind the vans. I didn't take my eyes off it until the stretcher disappeared from view behind the doors.

Derek approached me, a piece of cloth held against his forehead. "Apparently Michael had a partner."

My answering nod was vacant, without conviction. "Nicola told me." I felt no relief. My eyes were still on the ambulance.

"We were unprepared, but we have Michael, which is the most important th-"

He was cut off by another stretcher moving past, held by two more paramedics. There was a sheet covering the body entirely. I went straight for it. I could hear Derek calling out behind me, but I ignored him, flipping the top of the sheet back.

My brain registered the image slowly, but when I finally understood what I was seeing, I could do nothing else but drop the sheet and fall to my knees with a cry.

_Yes, we had Michael_, I felt like saying to him. _But at what cost?_


	41. Chapter Fourty

**Chapter Fourty**

**PRESENT TIME**

Sam enjoyed inflicting pain, even more than Michael had. She was slow, she was cruel, and her sentences were weaved with even more horror than I had thought possible.

My legs had been cut, multiple times. Every time I screamed she cut me again, so eventually I stopped screaming. She cut me anyway. My pants were in tatters, sliced to ribbons and drenched with blood.

I hadn't been there for long. I wouldn't be there for much longer, which I suppose was my only comfort.

Sam didn't have time on her side, if she wanted to draw out my torture. Garrett may have turned the other cheek, but it was only a matter of when—not if—that we would be found by another warden.

Screaming out for help was fruitless. The material was wadded so thickly inside my mouth that my jaw ached constantly, and the only sound emitted was heavily muffled. I still tried, every time I heard footsteps, but it was usually Sam returning.

The bathroom was empty of Sam at the moment, a tiny reprieve. The tap above my head was dripping in a steady rhythm. I struggled against my bonds for the umpteenth time, hoping that this time would be the time I could make them give way, give me some room to wiggle and escape. But, just like the screaming, it proved fruitless.

"I learned to tie knots as a kid," Sam had told me as she had bound me to the sink. "Girl scouts."

She'd explained various things like this, like I cared.

I was feeling lightheaded, I realised some time later, a sensation that wasn't caused by lack of food or water, but by loss of blood. The tiles underneath my legs had been stained red for some time. I hoped they made Garrett clean them afterwards.

I tried to steady my confusing thoughts, and tried to develop a plan. It took a while, but it came to me. It was the worst plan, but it was the only one I had.

I was dead either way, really.

"_You have to embrace it."_

Paul had told me this when we were teenagers. It had taken me a long time to accept I could see the dead. But I hadn't wanted to accept all the abilities that came with it. Hopping planes of existence. Shifting. Transcending. It was too much. I had been too scared to use my new abilities for the longest time. It would mean I was no longer normal. I hated feeling different. Having Paul as a partner in crime had made it easier, but I had never lost the feeling that every time I shifted, I was losing any normalcy I had a hold on. He had acted like my mentor for many years, pushing me, taunting me, trying to convince me to take a hold of the unknown and welcome it.

"_You have to embrace it, because one day you might need it. One day it might save you."_

I had never truly believed those words, until I had found myself lying in a bathroom, at the mercy of someone else.

My breath was coming out in short pants, but I tried to steady it anyway, concentrating and emptying my thoughts. It was difficult, and it took a long time to achieve.

Finally I felt the familiar coldness seeping from my stomach, up my chest and down my legs, like I was being covered in a different kind of blood.

It was oblivion, it was safety. It was detachment.

I went.


	42. Chapter FourtyOne

**Chapter Fourty-One**

**DECEMBER 2007**

Hours don't seem long until they are spent by the side of a bed in hospital.

As soon as I was allowed, I took up residence in the hard plastic chair next to Paul's bed. He was pale and unconscious, two shades I hadn't seen Paul wear before. I didn't want to see him look like this, and yet I couldn't look away.

I wanted to promise that I'd never leave.

I wanted to promise that I would never speak to him again the way I had in the past few weeks.

I wanted to tell him that he was my priority, my first.

I wanted to tell him that I loved him.

I wanted.

It was hard to ignore that it had always been about what I had wanted, which had been how we had gotten to this point in the first place. Would things have been better if I had have come clean straight away after that very first phone call, when I realised I had perhaps gone too far? Or the first time I had seen him at the mall, with Cee Cee?

All through my life my mouth had written checks my butt couldn't cash. Paul had always gotten me out of trouble in the past. So why hadn't I gone to him this time? Is it because I wanted to handle this one on my own? Is it because I just wanted to feel capable?

Had I ever stopped competing against him?

The ugly truth was holding a mirror in front of my face, one I couldn't look away from.

It is human nature to make mistakes but I…I created catastrophes. I had developed a misguided sense of self-worth and self-capability bred from determination and tenacity. The entire situation would have been one easily avoided, if only I'd disregarded my pride and sought help in the person I professed to love and claimed to prioritise above all others.

Except Paul wasn't my first. The entire time, _I_ had been my first priority.

A mirror never lies.

Crying wouldn't solve anything, so I didn't. Instead I clutched Paul's hand, hoping the doctor had been correct when he said that he would wake on his own. Only a few days of bed rest would be sufficient. No permanent damage.

I studied the steady rise and fall of his chest underneath the sheets, the way his eyelashes curved against his cheeks, the way the corner of his mouth twitched every now and then.

I may have been my first priority, but I couldn't mistake the feeling of protectiveness I felt sitting there, watching him. If he gave me the chance, I'd make it all up to him. I'd never keep anything from him again. I would give him anything I had to offer, if he'd let me.

An hour later, my phone rang. I sighed and released Paul's hand, answering softly.

Although time seems to stop inside a hospital, it continues outside at normal pace. I still had things to do, one of which would be to visit my lawyer.

If Michael was going to be punished for what he had done, then I had to contribute to the prosecution. The idea of being on trial as a witness filled me with even more dread than if I was facing Michael unarmed all over again.

But I had to do it.

I sighed deeply, and leant over, placing a kiss on Paul's forehead. His skin was warm and his face was peaceful. I wanted to stay there, foreheads connecting, forever. In that moment, it was as if nothing had changed between us. He was still mine.

I left the room, darting one last look over my shoulder, before rounding the corner.

She nearly ran into me, but stopped just in time, looking accusatory. Her dark brown hair was done in a professional style that I would never be able to pull off, and her blue eyes were sharp and critical. A matching skirt and blouse clung to her slender frame. Her black heels, the kind with the red sole that I could never afford, made her stand a head taller than me. I had never met this woman before, and yet I knew instantly who she was.

"Maria?" I asked tentatively.

Her look turned sour. "Marcia. I'm guessing you're the infamous Susannah?"

"Suze."

"I see." Her eyes travelled the entire length of me. By the time she locked eyes with me again, I felt like I had been documented, and I wouldn't have been surprised if she knew that added value of every single garment I was wearing. "I've heard things about you."

I bit my lip, unsure of how to respond. I would be the last person Marcia would say nice things about, that much I knew. What I wanted to know was _why_ she was here, at the hospital and clearly visiting Paul.

I had no idea how she even knew he was here.

"I don't mean to be rude, but why are you here?" I asked daringly. Her eyes, perfectly lined, narrowed.

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

"I'm his fiancée."

Marcia pursed her lips. "Not anymore, I heard."

She clearly had done her research. "That will change," I assured her.

"I've also heard that you're like poison. Don't you think you've done enough to him?"

My hackles rose. "You know nothing about my relationship with Paul." My words were final, as in, _stop talking, now_.

She didn't seem to care. "I know enough to know you don't deserve him. He doesn't need someone like you right now."

I scoffed. "And he needs someone like you? Last time I checked, he wasn't interested."

I was learning quickly that Marcia was the kind of person who brought out the worst in me, and yet I couldn't stop. I was wounded. I hated the fact that the truth was being spoken by a woman who looked like the product of rich breeding; something I'd never had growing up.

"Only because you've had your claws sunk into him for the past few months. Anyway," her eyes fell to the bag on my shoulder. "Weren't you going somewhere?"

I grit my teeth. "None of your business if I am."

"You're right. Don't let me keep you." Without another word, she walked around me to Paul's bedside, sitting on the chair I'd just vacated, crossing her legs with a flourish.

I wish I could say that in the days following I did more than sit and wallow, but I didn't. Guilt laid heavily over me like a blanket every time I stopped and thought about what had happened, about the people who were now lying, hurt or dead, as a result of my actions.

_You have to let people make their own decisions, _Art had said after I'd seen the body. He'd said those words as if they'd comfort me. They didn't.

People may make their own decisions, but you can never forget that everyone else is affected by them.

Until now, I _had_ forgotten. Not anymore.

Two funerals were held a week later on the same day.

One for my mother. One for Vicki.

It had been only a minor relief to learn that Vicki's end had been fast and quick and everything that my mother's hadn't been. The end result was the still the same.

It was a blur of tears and speeches. Tears had run a steady stream down my face during Vicki's funeral.

I could barely stand during the final farewell for my mother. I had crossed my arms over my stomach, wishing someone, anyone, could share my pain so I could deal with it better. Hysteria sat like a stone in my throat, but I refused to let it out. Jake and David had moved to stand next to me towards the end, both not speaking, their hands lightly resting on the small of my back.

Denial is a beautiful thing; I still couldn't believe how quickly it had happened. How quickly my mother's life had been stolen away.

Her life, instead of my own.

I remained even after the guests began to file away to the wake. The breeze was cold on the back of my neck, but I didn't care. I felt like a blind person stumbling in a desert with no direction. Ever since my mother's murder, I had been driven with purpose. Catch the man responsible. Make him pay.

I'd caught Michael. He was going to be punished.

…Now what?

I had no motivation to move. What would be the point? I would only be doing more of the same, but in a different location. I had no real connection to any of the guests at the wake. My mother had lost her parents before I was born. All that remained were Andy, my stepsiblings and the many friends she had loved. I didn't want to stand around hearing them wax poetic about the kind of woman my mother had been. I knew who she was, better than any of them.

It wouldn't bring her back.

It may have been hours, it may have only been a few minutes, but I finally shed my last tear and turned around.

Paul was standing with his mother, Nancy, on the gravel road a fair distance away next to their car. I couldn't make out their facial expressions, but I could tell they were facing my direction, watching me. As I came closer I noticed his hands were in his pockets and his face was sombre. Nancy said something to him I couldn't hear and began walking towards me, her arms outstretched, her unsteady gait hinting that she had been drinking already, probably since this morning.

Heck, her clutch was pretty spacious; she probably had a flask on her right now.

I accepted her hug, feeling numb.

"Honey…" she crooned into my hair. I expected an apology of some kind, an 'it'll get better soon', but instead she just repeated the same word into my hair. Somehow, this was more comforting than any well-wish I'd received that day.

"Don't be a stranger, sweetie," she finally murmured. "I've got plenty of drink for both of us."

I looked over her shoulder at Paul, still standing next to the car. With a nod at me, he opened the door and hopped inside. Something inside of me died a little further.

Nancy pulled away, signalled by the sound of the engine starting. She patted my cheek and turned, walking up the path.

Loneliness was a difficult skin to wear, but I was getting used to the way it felt.


	43. Chapter FourtyTwo

**Chapter Fourty-Two**

**JANUARY 2008**

There were at least a hundred sets of eyes watching me as I sat on the stand. I had only been there for ten minutes, stating my defence, but I was exhausted and anxious. My hands were gripping the edges of the chair I was seated on, and my spine was as straight as a pole.

The defence attorney for Michael was unspectacular in every way except for his words. He painted lethal phrases with such ease that I felt like I was the one on trial.

He was darn good at his job. Pity his job was to discredit me.

It was working, too.

"Further investigation into this so-called 'task force' that commissioned the assignment has come up empty. Do you have any evidence attesting to the existence of this so-called 'task force', Miss Simon?"

"Objection," my lawyer, Peter Deacon, stood, looking annoyed, but he was overruled by the judge.

"Well?"

I swallowed. "No."

The defence lawyer shot a warning look at Peter, and continued, walking over towards the stand where I was seated. "Do you have any person who will attest to the existence of this so-called 'task-force', Miss Simon?"

My eyes found Paul's in the audience. Our eyes met for only a moment; he dropped his gaze, abandoning me in one small movement. I could feel the lawyer's exultation at my humiliation.

"No."

With that, the lawyer returned to his seat. "No further questions, your honour."

"I've got bad news, Miss Simon," Peter said half an hour later, sitting down at the table next to me. His hair was greying at the temples, and stress lined his face more than time seemed to. "Your testimonial has been dismissed due to uncertainty. However," he added quickly, seeing my face fall, "we still have enough evidence to nail Michael on _at least_ three counts of attempted murder," he jabbed his pen at the file in front of him. He jaw was set in determination.

"This sucker isn't winning. Not on my watch."

When I saw his retreating head in the hallway, I didn't hesitate.

"Paul!"

He stopped and turned. His face gave nothing away as I hurried up to him.

"We have to talk."

The prospect didn't seem to thrill him at all. With a sigh he gestured with his head behind him and I followed, darting around the people milling around, until we found a quiet place, at the end of a hallway underneath a large window.

I expected him to stand there, arms crossed, and do the Paul-stare he did so well. Instead he scowled.

"Are you out of your fucking mind, Simon?"

I blinked, momentarily stunned. "What are you talking about?"

"Telling the entire court room about the task force. Have you got shit for brains?"

Not that I was aware of. "I was under oath. What am I supposed to do, lie?"

Paul looked at me incredulously. "What, too difficult for you? Yes! You're supposed to lie. You signed a contract."

"I don't work there anymore."

"Do you think that fucking makes a difference to them?" Paul looked frustrated and angry. It wasn't ideal, but at least it beat the cold indifference I'd seen from him in the past few weeks. "You need to go back in there," he pointed behind me, "and take it all back."

I just shook my head. "It doesn't matter anyway. My defence fell through."

Paul stopped for a beat, his hand running through his hair. "What?"

"You heard me. Mentioning the task force didn't go down well because I couldn't back it up."

"Of course you couldn't back it up. The jury aren't stupid."

"I didn't think they were…to be honest, I didn't think it through."

He didn't say it, but the look on his face spoke for him.

"Anyway, I didn't want to talk to you about that," I said, trying to change the subject.

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Then talk. What do you want?"

All the words I had practiced in my head vanished underneath his hard stare. It turned out not to matter; I never got to tell him, because Dominic called my name from behind me.

He was standing several feet away, looking stressed. "The jury have come to a decision, Suze."

My stomach felt as if it was lodged in my throat. I turned away from Paul and walked as fast as I could, following Dominic towards the court room.

If I had have known that would be the last time I'd speak to him in years, I would have said more.

Michael was charged and found guilty on two counts—my mother and Vicki—of murder, three counts of attempted murder for the police officer, Paul and I, along with whatever else Peter could pin on him.

His defence lawyer tried to get him off on insanity, but no dice. Michael's arms were forced into handcuffs, and slowly led out of the court room.

His strides were long and confident, even with police officers at his sides. His eyes didn't waver from mine until he was forced through the door. Those sitting in the audience, like me, didn't move. It was complete silence.

I closed my eyes, listening to the door close, and released the breath I had been holding.

It was over.

I was panting, filled with that peculiar feeling when you don't know whether to laugh or cry. It was indecision so pure it was painful…so I did both.

I wondered how many had done this before me in this very room the moment justice had been served. It was the highest elation after the lowest low. I wanted to scream, I wanted to run. I wanted to cackle uncontrollably and I wanted to weep until I fell asleep. I settled for rocking back and forth, hugging myself and choking out sob after sob.

It was over.

Those that had been seated next to me had long left when a shadow fell across the floor in front of me. When I looked up through a haze of tears, I recognised Derek, Tony and a few others that I had seen when we were capturing Michael. Members of the task force.

I realised belatedly that they were probably pissed off with me.

"Miss Simon," Derek said. I had only seen him this angry when I had blackmailed him to help me. "We have a few things to discuss. Would you kindly follow us?"

There was no option in his voice. I swallowed, rubbing my eyes and pulling myself together. The men moved around me and I was shepherded out of the courtroom not unlike Michael had been, except my chains weren't visible.

I was taken back to the office. I sat at the board room table, under scrutiny and in serious trouble.

"We've heard some stories about you, Miss Simon," Derek said, sitting opposite.

My eyes, which had been going from one man to another, finally settled on Derek. "Like what?"

"Your…abilities, I believe we can call it?"

I cleared my throat obnoxiously. "My work ethic?"

"I believe in the movies they called it 'the sixth sense'. But if that's how you want to refer to it…"

If I had just been doused with icy water, I wouldn't have felt this cold. At first I was shocked…and then the horrible truth had set in: he'd done it. He'd really, really done it.

Paul had turned me in. He hated me _that_ much.

Another victory.

I swallowed down rage and the urge to track Paul down and wring his neck. I was filled with disbelief and yet…I _knew_ he was capable of doing this kind of thing. I'd always known.

Stunned disbelief must have shown on my face, because Derek nodded condescendingly.

"You see, in the task force we pride ourselves on our effective 'don't ask, don't tell' policy. It gets things done. Except for the fact you told. So now we're asking."

This wasn't happening.

Tony cut in then, stepping forwards towards the desk. "We're not here to threaten you, Miss Simon. We're here to offer you a deal."

I wondered why the term 'same shit, different smell' came to mind suddenly.

"A deal," I replied flatly. "I directly breached the confidentiality contract and you want to strike a deal?"

Derek leant forwards. "We know what you can do, and we feel you're inclined to assist us on future cases by using your gift whenever and wherever we see fit."

"That doesn't sound like much a deal to me."

"That's because it isn't."

I narrowed my eyes and stared back in defiance. He was trying to back me against a wall, but I had been through too much to be swayed by a threat with a lot of large words in it. "What if I don't accept?"

"Then we'll go public with your gift, discredit you, humiliate you…you'll find the average person doesn't take kindly to others who think they have paranormal abilities."

I actually laughed out loud at that one, fear and anger duelling within my voice. "No one would believe you."

"After that stunt you just pulled in the courtroom? Besides," his voice turned mocking, and I realised why when his next words were: "people believe in aliens, UFOs, Area 51, Miss Simon. We live in a world full of conspiracy theorists."

I hated the fact my words were being thrown back at me.

"But we also live in a world filled with sceptics. Between the two…" Derek trailed off.

I licked my bottom lip and looked at my hands which lay flat on the table. I was thinking hard, and thinking quickly. I had no doubt they had the ability to follow through on their threat, but at the same time I sincerely doubted they would bother. What did it matter? No one _had_ believed me in the courtroom, had they? Definitely not the jury. Sure, I had broken the contract—and quite obviously—but what were they going to do, make an _example_ of me?

The last few months I had been bullied, stalked, terrified, attacked, and emotionally run into the ground. And you know what?

I was fed up with being a marionette. It was about time I cut my own strings.

"No deal."

My words were heavy in the air. I had the feeling they had expected me to fall in line.

Wrong.

Tony spoke first. "Miss Simon, I don't think you understand the gravity of the si-"

"Of course I understand," I cut him off, looking impatient but resolute. I stood, pushing the chair back loudly.

"No deal. I want nothing to do with this company anymore, and I'm definitely not going to let you exploit what I can do just to make your lives easier."

They looked at each other for a beat. Tony cleared his throat again, his words soft. "Are you absolutely sure about your decision, Miss Simon?"

"Do I have to repeat myself again? I'm absolutely sure. Are we done here?"

Again, they looked at each other. When nobody spoke, I took it as a sign of acceptance. Nodding, I turned and left the boardroom, leaving the door wide open.

I was almost giddy as I walked down the halls towards the exit. I had found at least one good thing about the past few months: my backbone was now fully grown.

I hadn't felt more assertive and in control in my life. It was a good feeling.

Now, I had two missions I had to carry out. The first was, finding a housemate to help pay the bills while I looked for another job.

The second would be to castrate Paul's ass. Despite my bravado in the board room, I was beyond angry that he had turned me in the way he had. It had been dirty, it had been underhanded. Betrayal.

It had been the old Paul, the one I thought he'd left behind.

Dominic intercepted me on my way out.

"Where are you going, Suze?" he asked, looking a little lost.

"Haven't you heard?" I replied, my voice teasing. "I don't work here anymore."

"I heard that you were coming back."

"People should really stop assuming things about others. It's embarrassing if they get it wrong."

"Oh." He didn't seem to know what else to say. "Good luck, then, I suppose?"

"You too. Did you get the promotion you were after?"

He looked a little sheepish. "I suppose I did."

I glanced at my watch. "Anyway, I need to go. Have a good night." I turned and walked out the entrance, running down the stairs. It was sunset, and the air was crisp, but I didn't mind. The idea of curling up in a blanket with a book and some tea when I got home was a tantalising one.

I had just boiled the water, and was keying Jake's number into my phone when the doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock, and frowned at the time. I hadn't been expecting anyone. If it was Paul, I'd probably invite him in, only to throw scalding water on him. Fucking asshole.

I put the phone down and wiped my hands on my jeans, looking through the peephole. Whoever was standing at the door was looking in the opposite direction, and I didn't recognise them from the back of their head. All I knew was that it wasn't Michael.

I opened the door slowly. The man looked fairly generic; there was nothing spectacular about his brown hair or his brown eyes. He didn't look official. The only thing he wore that struck me as out of place was his white coat.

The overdone joke about white and labour day sprung to mind, but I didn't say it. "Yes?"

"Susannah Simon?" he asked. He seemed kind. He also was going out of his way to seem unthreatening. I was on my guard instantly.

"Speaking."

"Would you please open the door?"

Yeeeeeeah no. "No I won't, sorry. Who are you?"

"I'm not here to harm you."

"You've got that right. Who are you?" I asked again.

Then I saw the police officers, standing to the side behind him. They flashed their badges. "Open the door, Miss Simon," one of them said.

I was confused and indignant, but I opened the door anyway.

I shouldn't have done it.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was how cold I was. The second was that the bed I was lying on was harder than I was used to. I opened my eyes only to shut them again instantly; the white light overhead hurt to look at. My head felt foggy, like I had been asleep for a long time, or was suffering from a severe hangover.

I sat up, wincing and looked around feeling disorientated. The room I was sitting in was plain, with only one window, barred, and a steel sink and toilet in the corner. I was sitting on a slab covered by a thin mattress. The room was lit by a simple fluorescent bulb. It illuminated the concrete walls and floor of the room I was sitting in. I'd never been here before.

There was a door opposite, with a clear pane of glass sitting just above the door handle. Beyond, I could see linoleum and a white hallway. It looked clinical, like the inside of a hospital.

A hospital?

I tried to work my sluggish mind to concentrate on the last thing I could remember, but it was difficult. I peered through the glass, and slammed a hand on the door.

"Hello?" I called. Surely, if this was a hospital, there would be nurses.

I tried the door. It was locked.

Surely, if this was a hospital, patients wouldn't be locked _in_.

"Hello?" I tried again.

I sensed movement beyond the door before I saw it; two people, with white jackets, stood in front of the glass pane for a moment, then the door swung out towards me. I jumped backwards.

The women looked to be in her mid-thirties, with a round, pleasant face and dark skin. The man standing next to her looked a little scruffy, and there was a steely look in his eyes that wasn't shared by the woman. If I had to pick one to trust, I'd choose her.

"Honey, my name is Cassie. Do you know your name?"

I looked at her like she'd just grown a second head. "Of course I do. It's Suze. What happened? Was there an accident?"

She shook her head sympathetically, approaching me with her palms outstretched, like I was a wild animal. "No sweetie, there wasn't. Do you remember anything from before you woke up?"

I frowned in confusion. "I…" I started from this morning. My thoughts came slow, and patchy. I remembered waking up, nervous and anxious about the court case and Michael's sentencing. I had spoken to Paul, but then we were interrupted…

…Michael, being arrested and led out of the court room. My elation afterwards.

…Talking with Derek and Tony afterwards, declining their offer. Speaking to Dominic….

And then I remembered the knock on my door. I stepped back, the backs of my calves hitting the concrete block.

"Who are you people?" My voice was terse, and that sickening feeling—the kind where you know you're about to hear something you really don't want to hear—was pervading my stomach, seeping outwards and taking hold.

Again with the palms outward, like I was about to attack them. "We're here to help you, sweetie. I understand you must be confused and scared."

She had that right. It didn't change the fact I had the urge to create as much distance between the two coat-people and myself as possible.

My eyes fell on the door. I moved to the side.

"Who are you people?" I asked again.

The man sighed in impatience. "We are your doctors."

"Huh. Where am I?"

They shared a look. Cassie took a step towards me. "Sweetie, you're in Carmel Mental Health Hospital. We're here to help you."

I was out of here.

Without a second thought, I bolted for the door. Fear had made me quick, adrenaline made me strong.

They obviously hadn't expected me to run the way I had, because it took a moment for them to react. I burst into the hallway, the two wardens quick on my heels. The linoleum was cold and slippery but I kept running. There were more wardens up ahead; they looked up in shock. I pushed past one woman who clearly was half-asleep, and kept moving. I wanted to get as far away from these people as possible.

I had no idea what they wanted, and clearly there had been a mistake; however, I wasn't sticking around to let them know that.

I had almost made it to the corner when someone launched themselves onto me.

It was like being tackled. I crumpled under his weight, slamming my chest onto the floor. I wheezed, and then gasped as I felt a sharp prick on my neck.

Then I felt nothing.


	44. Chapter FourtyThree

**Chapter Fourty-Three**

**PRESENT DAY**

When I opened my eyes, the bathroom was the tell-tale pastel wash that signified the parallel plane of existence that had taken me so long to get used to. I didn't look behind me; I didn't want to see from my perspective the damage Sam had done to me, confirming just how little time I had left.

The door was locked, not that it mattered. Things like that didn't matter after I had transcended. I walked straight through it, out into the empty hallway. Pity I couldn't take my body with me.

There was nobody around; Sam had been smart, choosing this end of the institution. They wouldn't have been able to see me anyway, but I might have been able to manipulate a warden to open the door somehow, using a few poltergeist tricks I'd learnt from several less complaint ghosts in my time.

I looked around one last time, then made my way down the hall, working towards the centre of the institution. I was looking for someone in particular, not that I would admit it. But I didn't find him, and I was running out of time.

I hadn't wanted to do what I did next, but part of me had known I'd probably have to. I'd only done it once before, under Paul's guidance.

Transporting in this realm was different from the real world. In the real world, if you shut your eyes and thought of England, when you opened them you'd still be sitting in your chair and feeling like an idiot. In this realm, if I shut my eyes and thought of a particular place…where it was, how it felt…I would be there. At least in theory that was how it was supposed to happen. But it had taken me a long time to master it.

_You have to let go_, Paul had said, over and over. I always had difficulty letting go. He never seemed to have trouble.

I shut my eyes, and thought of his lounge room. So much had happened in that lounge room. It was the weekend; there was a chance he would be home. I hoped he'd be home.

I'd be dead, if he wasn't.

_Lounge room_, I chanted in my head. But when I opened my eyes, I was still standing in the hallway, wardens swirling around me like I wasn't there.

Because I wasn't, I suppose. Not to them.

My mouth was dry, and I was beginning to panic. I shut my eyes, thinking of the leather couches, the coffee table, the books stacked neatly in the bookcases.

I opened my eyes. Nothing.

I rubbed my eyes furiously, fighting the urge to stamp my foot. How had I done it the first time?

We'd been lying out in the sun; I had just turned nineteen. We'd transcended, and we were standing on the grass behind his house, next to the pool and overlooking the ocean. I had been looking down at myself, my hair playing gently in the wind, the sun shining on my skin. We looked as if we'd fallen asleep holding hands. Everything around us was misty, just like in the mornings, when the fog rolled in.

Paul had grabbed my hand again, his eyes dark with concentration.

"Are you thinking of the place?" he asked, his voice mocking but his smile encouraging. I'd wanted to punch him, and then kiss him, in that order, just like I always did every time we were together.

"I am," I'd told him, but he shook his head.

"You can't be. We're still here."

"Fine," I'd snapped. I'd shut my eyes again, imagining the only place I knew better than all others; my bedroom. I imagined my bed, always piled high with cushions. I imagined the rug on the floor, the one I tripped over at least once a day, but kept because it looked nice. I imagined the bottles of perfume on my dresser that I lined up meticulously, and selected depending on the mood I was in that morning. I imagined it all.

"We're still here," Paul reminded me.

I sighed in frustration. "I can't do it. I'm doing everything you said to do. It's not working." I sounded like a sulky child.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Quit the drama. Are you thinking of what it looks like?"

I nodded.

"What is there?"

"Yes," I replied impatiently.

"How do you feel when you're there? What does it smell like? Feel like?" he had moved forward closely. I could feel his breath on my ear. I tried not to shiver. "You need to imagine you're already there, Simon."

I gripped his forearms tightly, and imagined it again. I pretended it was a Saturday morning, and I didn't have to work at the golf resort that took up my summer vacations. I imagined I'd just woken up, warm, peaceful, the light seeping in from the windows to my left. I imagined the sound of the neighbour's dog barking at things that weren't there, like he always did.

I felt safe.

"We're here." Paul's whisper was soft, and he sounded almost…proud of me.

I had opened my eyes, and I was standing on top of the rug, in the middle of my room. I'd gasped in surprise, and looked at him in wonder.

"Wow," I had said. "I did it."

"Nice choice of location, Simon," Paul had said, raising his eyebrow, leering towards the bed. I'd rolled my eyes and tried to pull away, but Paul had held onto my arms, looking down at me. We may not have technically existed, but the air between us had been thick anyway, full of unspoken words and actions and expectation. I looked up at him. I couldn't tell what he was thinking exactly, but I knew the general direction of his thoughts, and that was enough for me.

I bowed my head. "We should go back."

Paul exhaled, and his grip softened a little. "Then take us back."

After a few failed attempts on my part, Paul had made an impatient noise, and when I opened my eyes again, we were once again on the grass behind his house, in front of our bodies once more.

"Keep practicing," he'd said shortly, releasing my arms.

But I'd never been able to do it again.

I had to do it now.

I clasped my hands together like I was praying. I closed my eyes. Paul's lounge room…our lounge room. At least, it used to be.

I imagined the smell of the leather when I had sat there all those weeks ago shortly after escaping. I imagined how it was always warm. How, when I had lived there, it had been my solace. My happy place. How I'd done everything there. The times I had sat there worried, and the times I had sat there with Paul in a content state. How I had run there when I had been running from Michael. The way the glass windows allowed the orange glow from the sunset to flood the room every afternoon. The sound of the old-fashioned clock, ticking above the fireplace steadily. I could almost smell the smokiness of the wood in the mornings after we'd had a fire running.

How I now saw it with the mixture of sadness and regret that shaded everything from all those years ago.

I concentrated harder than I had in my life.

I opened my eyes, and I was standing in the coffee table, facing the windows. My entire body relaxed, and I gave a shout of relief and accomplishment. The feeling didn't last long, however; I had to find Paul, and quickly. He wasn't in the lounge room; it would have been too convenient if he had been. The house seemed quiet, although that may have just been because I'd transcended. So I looked for him the old fashioned way, from room to room.

He wasn't in the study. He wasn't in the kitchen. His bed had clearly been slept in on one side, the sheets thrown back. Marcia was sleeping in the spare room, in the same bed I'd slept in a few weeks ago. The sight stopped me for a moment; she looked troubled, her hand stretched out to the other side of the bed, fisted in the sheets. A stirring of sympathy I'd never expected shot through me for a moment. I stood there like a ghost for a few seconds, before moving on.

I'd almost given up when I saw the side door slightly open. If I had have been there physically, I would have felt the cool breeze coming through. I ran towards the glass door, going straight through it. The patio was empty, but I saw the top of his hair from the pool area. I found him, sitting on a deck chair, sunglasses on, topless and stretched out under the sun. He didn't look relaxed, however.

I set to work, trying to get his attention. It was my own bad luck that he was outside; it would make my job harder. Hopefully he was awake underneath those sunglasses.

He wasn't.

I leant down, brushing my hand down his shoulder. He twitched, but stayed where he was.

"Paul," I said. He didn't even stir.

He had always been a heavy sleeper, and difficult to wake up. I had never hated this about him before, but I sure did now.

"Paul!" I tried again, poking him. He groaned and shifted, but he didn't awaken. I was beginning to understand why some ghosts had screamed at me while I was sleeping, to get me to wake up. I wasn't ready for that kind of theatricality just yet. Instead I pulled out the big guns.

I stuck my hand in his pants.

He yelped and sat up straight, pulling his sunglasses off. Anger, then surprise, then worry flit through his eyes as quickly as I could recognise them.

Paul didn't need to see the desperation on my face to know I was in trouble. "Suze, shit. Sorry. What's wrong?"

"Sam has me."

"Sam?"

Right. I'd never told him about her. "Michael's younger sister. She was admitted…doesn't matter. Anyway, she has me. I'm tied up, I'm bleeding, I'm…" I trailed off as his expression went from worry to horror.

"And you just left your body there?"

"What was I supposed to do? Pick it up and take it with me?"

"You need to get back there, now." His words were hurried.

I shook my head. "You know I'm no good at that transportation stuff. It was hard enough just getting here."

He had been walking back towards his body, but now he turned and grabbed me. "Where are you? Tell me exactly."

"In a bathroom towards the back of the institute. West side, maybe?"

Paul swore. "I can't take us there if I've never been there myself."

He settled back quickly, concentrating for a few moments, and then he was standing beside me, his body still lying on the chair. He grabbed both my arms. "Visiting room, okay?"

I only had enough time to close my eyes before we moved. We were in the official visiting room; there were at least three patients with visiting family sitting around us. Paul didn't waste time. His grip tightened.

"Lead me to where you are. Now."

We ran in the general direction, through doors, walls and various cells. Paul was practically pulling me along. I was scared, but he seemed to fear something else entirely. When we finally reached the hallway I transported from, I pulled against him.

"Slow down! It's along here." We jogged several feet to the alcove. Despite the mist, it still looked just as dirty and desolate as it did normally. I pulled Paul through the door behind me, and then skidded to a stop. Sam was standing over my body, which was…

Paul swore again, louder this time. As usual, he had been one step in front of me. I realised at that moment that _this_ had been what he'd been worried about. What I should have thought about, before leaving my body vulnerable.

I was no longer tied up. Instead a strip of material was tied to the sink pipe above my head, and hanging from it were two straps…which were tied around my neck. I looked like I'd been hung.

My lips were blue.

I fell to my knees in front of my body, my mouth gaping in horror. I looked over my shoulder at Paul.

"Am…am I?"

He shook his head, looking sick. "I don't know."

There was always a degree of danger in transcending and shifting. Once we were in this realm, or Shadow Land, the only thing tying us to the physical plane was our bodies. Our bodies acted as a gateway; a portal, from one plane to another. The _only_ portal.

If I died in the physical realm, my spirit would then separate. At best, I would move on to whatever lies beyond. At worst, I would be stuck in this realm as a spirit, with no way out.

But if my body died while my spirit was separated, I would have no way back. The gateway would close. That scared me more than dying.

"I'm going back."

Paul's hand shot out and grabbed my shoulder. "Suze…" his eyes spoke volumes to me in that one moment. "Don't. You could die. You could already be dead. And then…"

I shook my head. "No. I refuse to be a ghost forever. I would rather that," I pointed to my body, hanging lifelessly, "than this."

Paul refused to let go. "Please…"

I wrenched his hand off me and without a second glance I threw myself at my body.


	45. Chapter FourtyFour

**Chapter Fourty-Four**

**PRESENT DAY**

My instant reaction after transcending was to gasp. But I couldn't. Instead I choked. I felt like my throat had been slit.

The sudden animation of my body seemed to freak Sam out. She leapt backwards, tripping over and landing with a thump. It would have been funny, if not for the fact that my vision was dizzy and I was very obviously, well…

Dying.

My head was spinning as I tugged the material wound around my neck. It was a fruitless effort. I pulled as hard as I could, but it didn't work.

I couldn't do it.

I felt a tear roll down my cheek. My head felt light. I could barely see Sam, now.

I wondered what she had been hoping to achieve. Was she trying to make it look like I'd killed myself, trying to hang myself in an abandoned bathroom? Somehow with all the wounds she'd inflicted, I knew the wardens would have trouble buying that it was suicide. Then again, would they care?

At least, I thought to myself, I would know what happened when you died. I just hoped I never came back. I had nothing holding me back. I hoped I would pass through to whatever lay beyond without consequence.

It's hard to explain what you're thinking when you die. My life didn't flash before my eyes, like some say it does. Instead I felt. I felt all the regret, the sadness, the longing and pain that I hadn't let myself feel. I felt angry that my life had been stolen from me, and yet I accepted it. I felt cheated, and yet I felt free. I felt like I'd missed out, and yet I was apathetic.

If oblivion was the only freedom I would ever experience again in my life, I'd gladly take it.

I was beyond it all.

I couldn't hear what Sam was screaming at me. Time seemed to stop. The world seemed to stop.

My eyes were just about to drift shut for one last time when I saw the door open. Then I didn't care anymore. I welcomed the darkness with outstretched arms.


	46. Chapter FourtyFive

"_I wonder if you wanted me,  
Like I wanted you.  
It's a lonely truth  
That I can't change you,  
And you sure can't change me."_

Fauxliage: "Let It Go"

**Chapter Fourty-Five**

**PRESENT DAY**

I have never met someone who narrowly escaped death. I've only met those who didn't.

I had been at that precipice, like I was balancing on the tip of a knife blade.

I had been so ready to die. But I had obviously not been as ready as I'd thought, as accepting of my fate.

Because I came back.

**TWO DAYS LATER**

I was told not to try and speak. The bruising around my throat had been severe, they had said. They told me all I needed was rest.

What I needed was something to eat, but they didn't seem to think so. Instead, I got a drip.

I had woken up in hospital a day later, a tube down my throat and a person holding my hand.

Jesse. Or Hector. Whatever his name was these days.

"Shh," he'd murmured when I'd try to say something. "Don't speak." He looked so dishevelled, like he hadn't slept in days, and yet he was still a beautiful thing to see. I entertained the idea of moving aside so he could sleep next to me, and then promptly disregarded the thought. I was in hospital…which meant I had lost time. The last thing I remembered was lying in a bathroom, the startling realisation that I was going to die at the forefront of my mind.

Jesse read the question in my eyes. "You're safe. We got to you, just in time. You were resuscitated."

I looked down. I was wrapped in a sheet. There was a button attached to my finger, and a needle in the crook of my arm. I ached all over, my throat especially. Jesse kept talking softly.

"It's been a day. We wanted you to rest while your body healed."

My body certainly didn't feel healed, but I suppose it beat being strangled.

"I'm so glad you're okay. I…I thought you were gone, for a while there," he reached out, as if to touch my face, then withdrew as if he'd thought better of it. His hand hovered near my own. I wished for a moment that he wouldn't be so distant…and then I remembered why he was being distant in the first place.

I was glad, then, that he hadn't touched me.

"I came as fast as I could, but it wasn't fast enough. I'm sorry."

I looked at him, another question in my eyes.

"Paul called me," he answered.

The surprise must have shown on my face, because Jesse smiled. It wasn't a happy smile.

"He told me where you were, almost exactly. He said afterwards that you had come to him for help. He explained it all to me, actually."

I looked down again, duelling emotions fighting for dominance. I was grateful to Paul…but I was also angry he had told Jesse my secret. I'm sure Jesse had known the gist before but still…

It had been _my_ secret to tell, or not to tell, if I chose.

"It's amazing, your gift. Amazing. To help people the way you do."

My only response to pointedly look at anything but him.

"I know you're angry at me, Susannah. I know you have a right to be. But considering you can't speak right now, please just listen to what I have to say."

He was right, I suppose. I didn't really have a choice. I couldn't exactly _go_ anywhere.

"I suppose we'll start with the biggest thing you'll want to know. I joined the task force two years ago. I had just moved to this country, and I had been recommended. You could say I've got a history in security and all that comes with it. I'll tell you all about it later, if you want me to."

I still wasn't looking at him…but I couldn't deny that I was listening. As much as I was angry with him, I wanted answers just as badly.

"I didn't have a job at that point, so I accepted. I moved up the ranks quickly. I was a natural, they said. I don't know if being told that you're a successful liar is really a compliment, but I suppose to the task force it is.

"Several months ago, a new assignment was commissioned to me. Your folder landed on my desk. Your profile said it all, that you were ex-task force, a security threat…the works. They wanted me to integrate myself into the institution, to keep an eye on you. If you were still a security threat, to shut you up. If you weren't, to pull you back out and push you back into the task force, because they felt your gift was too valuable to waste. It didn't take long for me to realise that neither option would be suitable for you. So I took my time. I told them that I couldn't declare you a security threat without several weeks of interviews, without raising suspicion. They said to do whatever I could."

I felt his hand go to mine, and hold on tightly. His hand was warm.

I…I wanted to sink into his arms. I wanted to hold onto him tightly. I wanted to go back to the days when I was Suze and he was Jesse and I didn't know what I knew now.

I also wanted to scream at him.

"Susannah, I was never going to turn you in. But I didn't want you to have to go back to the task force, either. And I wanted to tell you, but I knew you would never be okay with the truth."

I felt a tear slip down my cheek. I was still looking the other way. I hoped he didn't see it.

He did. I felt the pad of his thumb brush it away. Jesse leant close.

"I know you want time, and I'm going to give it to you. But I'm not going anywhere." I felt his lips in my hair, a faint pressure, and then he was gone.

I may not have been able to speak, but I sure as hell could still cry.

I was checked on several times a day by a nurse, and the tube was taken out of my throat by the end of the day. I tried to sleep as much as I could when I grew tired of thinking, but sleep rarely came.

I thought a lot. I thought more while I was lying in the hospital bed then the years in the mental institution.

I thought a lot about what Jesse had told me, and how it cast his actions into different perspective. Treating me like a normal person, always taking my side against the other wardens, letting me escape…

How he had been working with Paul. I had wondered what Jesse had been contributing to the plan, and now I knew. He clearly hadn't told them anything; otherwise they wouldn't have commissioned a deal. I wondered what he had said to them. I wondered what he had said to Paul.

I wondered what else Jesse had lied to me about.

I wondered if I could accept that we'd probably have to redo every conversation we'd ever had. I wondered if it was worth it. He'd said he would wait for me…but did I _want_ him to? Had I really fallen for Jesse, or had it just been what he'd represented to me?

He'd been my hope.

What had I been to him?

Paul was my next visitor. Paul and Jesse may have been incredibly different people, but they both shared a common tactic, talking to me when I couldn't talk back.

That probably said volumes about my personality in general, come to think of it.

He didn't speak at first; instead choosing to stand in the doorway until I noticed he was there. Then he came in, cradling my head carefully in his hands and placing kisses along my hairline. I was stunned at first, then came to my senses and pushed him away gently.

Paul sat down on the chair, but pulled it closer, resting his elbows on the side of the bed. His eyes went to my neck, and he reached out, his finger tracing my skin.

"She made a mess of your neck," he commented. He looked angry.

I shrugged.

"You're only saying that because you don't have access to a mirror. It looks gruesome."

Another shrug.

"I suppose you know why I'm here."

I could think of a multitude of reasons, none of which I wanted to—even if I could—voice. So I just shrugged again.

Paul sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. It was getting long; it was curling properly now. If he wanted to keep up his persona of professionalism, he'd probably need a haircut sometime soon.

"First of all, I wanted to tell you that if you ever throw yourself into a dying body again, I'm going to fucking pull you out and kill you."

I raised an eyebrow sardonically.

"Don't look at me like that Simon. _Never. Again_." He grabbed my hand and kissed it quickly, putting it back down like he'd never touched me. "I know we've got a lot of history. But I didn't want it to end like that. Too much has happened for it to end like that."

I nodded apologetically.

"While you're good and mute, I wanted to talk to you about something I know you don't want to talk about—_us_."

I don't know what my expression was to his words, but I know it wasn't the one he was looking for.

"Suze…please. Just listen to me," he leant in closer. "Things didn't work out for us…but they should have. Time was a fucking bastard to us both. I've been thinking a lot the last few weeks…that we should try again. We owe it to ourselves to try again."

I bit my lip and pointed very obviously to his left hand. The look on his face confirmed what I thought.

"It's not working with Marcia, Suze. You know it's not. And you know why."

I took the same approach I took with Jesse. I turned my head away.

"Don't do that. Look at me."

I was going to keep looking away until he changed the topic, but he took my chin and turned my head to face his again.

"I love you, Suze. Still. And I know you do, too."

I could feel a few tears threaten to fall. I pointed, this time with reverence, to his left hand again.

"But what if I wasn't?"

I shook my head and pointed to his hand again.

"I won't be for much longer, Suze. Then I won't be."

My finger didn't waver.

"I made a mistake. I…after everything that happened with you, I wasn't thinking. Marcia was there. She was constant. She didn't drive me fucking crazy the way you do every day. But I need it. I need you there to push me to be the better person. Please…"

My lip was trembling. I shook my head.

"You were the best thing that ever happened to me. You still are."

I shook my head again.

Paul's face darkened. "Why? You need to stop painting me as the villain. I know you love me. We could make it work. Why won't you just agree with me?"

I shook my head again, which only made Paul even angrier.

"Why, Suze?"

And then, without warning, I snapped.

"Because you should have WAITED for me!"

There it was. The words were as painful to admit as they were to speak, and once they were out I very much wanted to take them back. But they were also the truth. Words I'd wanted to say for years.

Speaking them brought me back to the day I had known it was all truly over; the day Marcia had come out of her way to visit me in my cell, a grin of triumph adorning her face. Something on her left hand had caught my eye, something I wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been for the light shining through my window and directly onto her. A ring.

I hadn't let her see my pain, but the moment she had left I'd succumbed to it. That day I had realised that any fragment of hope I'd still harboured was for nothing. I'd always thought that Paul and I could withstand anything. We'd had a relationship like no other. I thought our past may have been enough for us; that he would one day forgive me and we could one day be together again.

But he hadn't thought the same—that much had been clear. It hadn't been enough.

The darkness left Paul's face; it was as if a bubble of emotion inside him had just simply…popped. His shoulders slumped. When he finally replied, his words were so quiet I could barely hear them.

"I know."

My eyes flooded with tears at that moment.

Paul had been right, on two counts. Time _had_ been a bastard to us both. But, by the same point, time hadn't been the thing that killed us. Everything that had happened had been a direct consequence to our own actions. Our relationship had been cheated by the both of us, but only because we'd both given up. We'd both lost faith…which brought me to the second thing: a part of me did still love him. Probably always would. Paul had always been such a dominant feature of my life. I'd hated him and I'd loved him and he'd always been mine, whether I knew it or not…

Until now.

Because he was no longer mine. I had given up that right all those years ago, that morning in my apartment when I shut the door on our relationship. And now he was somebody else's.

I had done so many things wrong in the past. I refused to screw this up, too.

So I didn't say what Paul wanted to hear. I stayed silent. Tears ran down my cheeks as I watched him watching me, looking for something that would give my thoughts away. After a few minutes, he realised I wasn't going to give him an answer.

Then he did something that I never expected; that showed he really had changed.

Paul simply nodded and stood, leaving just as silently as he had arrived.

When it came time for me to finally leave the hospital, I didn't go back to the institution. I was released, and when I walked down to the lobby, someone was there to take me.

Jake.

When I had been put into the institution, I'd still had ownership of my apartment. Considering I had no living relatives, the ownership had passed to Andy. I'd presumed he'd sell it off, but instead Jake had moved in with David, and they had been living in it ever since.

And now I would be living with them.

Jake was taller than I remembered. He had always been at least a head taller than me, but now he seemed even larger. His hair was still a mess, blonde and scruffy and in danger of covering his eyes altogether. He still had the stereotypical look of a college student who spent more time partying then studying. But when I saw him, I ran—despite being told by nurses not to exert myself—and jumped up into his arms.

If he was unused to women throwing themselves at him, he didn't show it. His arms went around me and he swung me a little, laughing, and then put me down.

"Suze, lady-sis. How you doing?"

"I'm going home with you. I'm ecstatic." My voice was a little husky, but he didn't comment on it.

He leant down to pick up the bag I had dropped, which held the few possessions I had from the institution. He slung it over his shoulder, narrowly missing my head. Jake didn't seem to notice. "I learnt to cook while you were away, did you know?"

He looked so proud of himself I nearly laughed out loud. "I didn't get the memo. That's actually really good news, because I still can't."

"Then you're cleaning. I'm fucking sick of the smell of Windex, it gets up my nose. It's worse than onions."

"I congratulate you on the fact you even know what Windex is. You're miles ahead of your age group."

Jake barked out a laugh, putting sunglasses on as we walked out of the hospital. "Such is life…" he replied slowly. "I also forgot where I parked the car, so this will probably take a while. Hope you're not too eager to get out of here."


	47. Chapter FourtySix

"_I've still got sand in my shoes  
And I can't shake the thought of you.  
I should get on, forget you  
But why would I want to?"_

Dido: "Sand In My Shoes"

**Chapter Fourty-Six**

**PRESENT TIME**

My happiness didn't last for long. The last time I had escaped the institution, I'd been full of euphoria. Promise. Excitement.

By the time we were in the car and driving to our apartment, I had the emotional abundance of a piece of paper. I didn't feel any of the things I thought I'd feel once I got out. Instead I felt almost…

"If you can't get what you want, then come with me," Jake sung, embarrassingly out of key, cutting into my thoughts, his hair blowing around his head from the open window of his Jeep. I wondered if he could even see the road. "Up on melancholy hill, sits a manatee…"

Good to know he was still listening to songs that didn't make sense.

"Just looking out for the day…"

"Hey Jake?" I asked, cutting him off. He nodded, turning down the music a little and looking at me. I lost my nerve. "Who sings this?" I asked instead.

"You know who sings this," he gestured to the stereo as the song ended and another started. "You haven't been out of the loop that long."

I had, actually, but I changed the subject. "Where is David these days?"

"Internship for this big-deal IT company. He's never around. I think he sleeps there sometimes."

"Oh," I replied. This wasn't unreasonable, and it was nice to know David hadn't changed. "Thanks for picking me up."

"Yeah, yeah. Want an ice cream?"

He took the corner at least ten miles over the recommended speed limit, and stopped at a drive-through window. He ordered a cone with two scoops and turned to me. "Well? Ice cream?"

"No thanks."

Jake turned to the speaker. "And a milkshake. Chocolate. Is malt extra?"

The speaker confirmed that, yes, malt was extra.

"Fuck that. It never used to be."

The speaker confirmed that things had changed.

"Whatever."

I got a chocolate milkshake with malt handed to me a few moments later. "Thanks," I responded, with just a little bit of sarcasm touching my words.

Jake shrugged. "When was the last time you had a milkshake? Exactly." He turned up the stereo, trying to renew my love for the band with animated monkey-people. I could tell he was disappointed when I closed my eyes and leant my head against the window instead.

"It's your line, Suze!"

I shook my head. "You sing bad enough for the both of us."

There was a moment of silence while Jake contemplated my words. "True," he mused. "True."

There was already a car parked out the front when we arrived. I looked at Jake questioningly. He shrugged.

"I'm a student, lady-sis. Student budget. I may have forgotten to mention you'll have another housemate."

The car looked like it was falling apart. Only one hubcap remained, and…

"Is that rust?"

Jake shrugged. "He pays the rent."

I nodded, not entirely convinced, but too emotionally stagnant to care. Perhaps in the morning, after I'd gotten some sleep.

Jake led me inside, putting my bag on the bench. I stopped dead.

Everything looked different.

I looked Jake expectantly. He was the picture of pure innocence as he shuffled over to the fridge. "What?"

"Why are my walls navy blue?"

"White was too hard to keep clean." Jake saw the look on my face. "Sorry. We can paint it back."

I shut my eyes, blocking out the view of my beloved apartment, now turned into a bachelor pad for two college men. "I'm going to bed."

"Already? It's barely dark."

"I'm tired."

Jake got the hint. "Oh. Sure. Do you need any help at all?"

I shook my head. "No. I'll be okay." I shuffled up to my old room, my bag banging against my hip. The bed had been made for me, but I still had to walk over his clothes. I wondered if Jake would be sleeping on the couch tonight.

The door shut softly behind me. The curtain was pushed aside, and light from the street lamp was filtering onto the carpet. I didn't push the curtain back into place; I didn't turn on the light. I just sat on the edge of my bed in the same meditative state that I had grown accustomed to in the years past, my emotions trapping me far more effectively than the iron bars had.

The future was a daunting prospect. I didn't know what was coming for me anymore. I didn't know what I was going to do about Jesse, about Paul. My heart ached because of both of them, and I couldn't differentiate the pain right now. I had six impending months at the task force to get through.

For a few moments, I wished I'd never gotten out of the institution. At least I would have time to figure myself out. At least I would know what tomorrow would bring.

I watched the sun rise the next morning.

"Welcome back, Miss Simon."

Derek offered his hand and I shook it without feeling.

"It's wonderful to work with you again."

Apart from a slight greying at his temples, he hadn't changed a bit. He gestured behind himself to a desk and I sat down, taking the folder he gave to me. I had started to feel sick walking through the front doors; now I just felt downright nauseas.

"The folder you're holding," I looked down at the non-descript cover, but didn't open it, "has been on my desk for nearly a year. I'd love it if you would be able to work on that case first."

Six months, and then I'd be free. I nodded.

"Excellent. Do you still remember your way around here?"

"I haven't forgotten."

"Excellent," Derek repeated. It was as if the last three years hadn't happened. "Well. I trust you remember where your office is. Let me know if there are any problems. I expect a report by the end of the week."

I'd made three steps towards my office when I saw Jesse. At first I didn't recognise him; I'd never seen him in normal clothes, let alone a suit. My stomach dropped, and I swallowed. He nodded to me, his face grim.

"Susannah."

"You're here." My voice was a little accusing.

He nodded. "The nurses at the institution believe I've been transferred. I was asked to work here for a while."

"Doing what?"

Jesse gestured to the folder I was carrying. "This. I've been assigned as your partner."

I wondered if the task force had done this on purpose. Maybe they thought they were doing me a favour?

No. It was probably just to torture me a little more.

I looked down at my feet, unsure of what to say. I saw from the corner of my eye Jesse glance over his shoulder and then move a little closer. "I didn't know until this morning, or I would have told you in the hospital."

I bit my lip and looked up, my expression perfectly neutral. I handed him the file. "Well, here is our case. It's a doozy."

Jesse took it, but his eyes didn't leave my face. "Can we start over?"

I felt like telling him we couldn't. Too much had happened. That I was angry at him, that I was angry I trusted him. I was angry because he had proved why I shouldn't trust people. He had been my hope, my friend, the life vest a drowning person clings to.

But most of all, I was angry because I wasn't angry at him. I wanted to hurt him, and I wanted to be with him, but I didn't want to go there and yet I _did_…

"I don't know. I need time. You said you'd give me time."

"I meant it."

I nodded towards the folder. "Better read it, Jesse. We have a lot of work to do."

It wasn't much. But it was enough. His smile was faint, and he followed me to my office.

At first time moved slowly, halting and stalling the way a train sometimes does when it tries to take off, but after a few weeks, things started to feel normal. I slowly felt myself come back to life.

Every day I woke up in my bed, surprised, expecting to see concrete walls instead of a clear window. Every day the cuts on my legs would heal further, and the bruising around my neck would fade just a little more. I would get ready for work, and walk into the kitchen to find my stepbrother and his housemate, Harrison, cooking breakfast, shaking their hips to the rhythm of music coming out of the stereo sitting on top of the microwave.

Harrison was the same age as Jake, similar in looks and demeanour except for his black hair. He had volunteered to clear out his room and take the couch for reduced rent, so now Jake was sleeping in the guest bedroom. When I had asked Jake where David would sleep, he shrugged.

"Told you. He's never around. Did I mention he has a girlfriend? I probably should have mentioned that. She's pretty hot. You know, for a computer nerd."

At first I hadn't been sure I wanted to share my space with them both, but I found I enjoyed the company and the constant reassurance of their presence. They seemed so comfortable with the fact that they were nearing thirty years of age, and still stuck in the educational rut.

A plate landed in front of me the moment I sat down. I inhaled deep.

…I also kept them around because I couldn't make breakfast the way they did.

"Class today?" I asked, biting into a slice of toast.

Harrison gave me a what-do-_you_-think? look over his shoulder. "Naturally. I should just start living in my lecture theatre." Harrison was halfway through his engineering degree. I had taken one look at his pants slipping halfway down his ass, and it was so stereotypically obvious I hadn't been surprised at all.

"I don't," Jake remarked, flipping an egg.

"You do know the difference between an arts degree, and all other degrees, don't you?" Harrison asked sarcastically.

Jake sighed, like he'd heard that line a million and one times. "Would you like fries with that?"

"Exactly. You should change, bro. It's not too late."

"No point in changing if you want to major in history."

This hadn't been the first time I'd witnessed this conversation, by any means. "You should volunteer at the historical society, or something," I offered.

Jake shook his head. "Already tried. They reject everyone who isn't already retired."

"McDonalds don't."

We both ignored Harrison. "You could try on campus. I'm sure they'll help you out."

"Maybe," Jake said in a non-committed way. "For now, I'm content with surrounding myself with the social whirl of bowling alley and attending to the needs of people with food odour."

"Living the dream," I said.

"Someone has to." I didn't miss the sly smirk he shot over his shoulder.

I took that as my cue. I thanked them for breakfast and headed out the door, glancing at the calendar I had hung of the wall as I left.

It was one of those yearly calendars, with a giant circle halfway marking six months. Black crosses were slowly moving down towards it. After today, I would add yet another cross.

Paul was already there when I arrived, seated on a bench on top of the hill that overlooked the entire town. We had come here regularly when we were younger, for many different reasons, and it was one of the few neutral places we had left.

He looked guarded, not that I was surprised. He had to have known when I wanted to meet that it would be to say things he wouldn't want to hear.

"Hey Paul," I murmured, sitting next to him.

"Hey," he replied, sounding short. "What's up?"

"You know what."

"No I don't."

"Don't make me say it."

Paul looked at me from the corner of his eye. "Say it."

I clasped my hands together tightly. "I…I came here to tell you to choose Marcia."

He exhaled loudly, as if he was pissed off. "Why?"

"She can make you happy."

"_You_ made me happy."

"No, I didn't," I shook my head, looking at him sadly. We were sitting next to each other, but it was as if we were looking at each other from a distance. "I lied to you. I hurt you."

"That's all been done."

"But it shouldn't be. I…I didn't respect our relationship enough. You know I didn't."

"You did the best you could." His words were generous, too generous for what I deserved.

"No, I didn't. I wasn't any good for you. I didn't act like someone who had pledged the rest of their life to you. You deserve better."

Paul made a frustrated sound and stood, turning to face me, arms folded across his chest. "That was the kind of bullshit I fed to the cheerleaders back in high school after a one-night stand. You don't get to use that line on me."

I dropped my gaze to the grass. "It's true, though. You deserve someone who will put you first, and work as hard as they can to make you happy." I thought back to when I had seen Marcia, curled up in bed, arm reaching for a person who wasn't there. "I'm not that woman."

"You could be."

I stood and moved forward, grabbing one of his hands. His eyes were hard, but I knew he was upset. But I also knew I was right. He probably did too, but he was too stubborn to admit it. We were both too stubborn. "Paul." My words were soft, pleading. "I did love you. You have to know that. And I still do, in a way. But it's not enough. You deserve more than what I can give you."

Paul pulled his hand away. "You need to stop saying that, making out as if I was good guy in all this. If I remember correctly, I'm an asshole. I've been an asshole the entire time you've known me," he was smirking, but there was malice underneath it, like he was being forced to swallow a bitter pill. "So stop going on that I deserve better. I don't deserve anything."

"Don't you dare board the douchebag express, Paul. You know that's not true. You're a good person if you let yourself be one. You've always been there for me, and those months we had together were the happiest I've ever had. But we're both different people now, and too much has changed. Tell me I'm wrong."

"You haven't changed at all."

He was definitely lying, and he knew it. "I have. The woman you knew four years ago wouldn't be telling you this. She was selfish."

"And you're not being selfish right now?"

I stopped for a moment, uncertain. "I'm trying not to be."

"Well, it's not working, Simon. I'm not buying it." Paul ran a hand through his hair, looking agitated. He glanced at the sky, and then the ground, then started to stride away. "I'm going to go. Come find me when you've sorted your shit out," he said over his shoulder.

I wasn't letting him go that easily. "Paul!" Something in my voice made him stop dead. "Don't walk away from me."

He stopped, but he didn't come back. I walked until I was standing in front of him again. "Paul, I know you. I know you so well. So trust me when I say that I know I'm not the answer. Please…" I picked up his hand and threaded our fingers together. He was avoiding my eyes. "Keep the promise you made to Marcia, the way I never kept mine to you. You wouldn't have chosen her without a good reason, no matter what you were thinking."

Paul's jaw was set, but I knew my words were sinking in. He was silent for a long time, and then he finally exhaled, his shoulders sinking. His grip on my hand tightened. "Suze…" he whispered. "It's too late for me and Marcia."

I shook my head. "No. It's not. Trust me." I may not have ever liked Marcia, but that didn't mean I didn't know what I was talking about.

We were silent. The wind ran through our hair, the rustling leaves the only sound I could hear. As much as I wanted to cry, I knew I had done the right thing. Finally, I was doing the right thing.

When Paul finally let my hand go and walked away, I didn't stop him. I wondered if I'd ever speak to him again.

Working with Jesse reduced us to an unsteady relationship where we kept things professional by letting so many things go unsaid. Luckily for me, Jesse was very good at being professional. Our interactions reminded me of the days in the institution, before things had grown complicated. He never mentioned what had happened between us, and sometimes I found myself wishing for a few moments that he would.

Jesse had been so easy to talk to; I felt like I'd known him well. But Hector was a completely different person. I wondered if the two people intersected at all.

The first few days we had worked together had been the most awkward, until I'd finally gotten fed up and asked him a few questions that had been playing on my mind.

"How old are you, then? Really?" I'd asked out of the blue, halfway through sorting a file.

If I had surprised him with my sudden initiation of conversation, he didn't show it. In fact he looked knowing, like he'd been waiting for this to happen. "I'm twenty-nine. Really."

"And you said you were a doctor."

Jesse nodded.

"Specialty?"

"Rheumatologist."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. My grandfather had severe problems with arthritis. It is the most painful thing to see movement being taken away from a person. The kind of things that others take for granted."

"So how did you convince everyone you were a psychiatrist?"

"What's the term? I winged it."

I bit my lip. "And no one there suspected you?"

Jesse looked thoughtful. "I don't think so. I told you I was hired because I was a good liar. I know Marcia wasn't sold on me though. She just didn't have proof."

"She was trying to get it, though."

"I know. You were the one who warned me, remember?"

I had. Our eyes met for a few moments; thinking of the institution always reminded me just how much things had changed in the last few weeks. How much I had changed. How I wanted to be closer to Jesse and I didn't want anything to do with him, and every time I thought about saying something I always ruled it as too much, too soon. Then I'd break eye contact by looking down, and continuing what I had been doing beforehand. These kinds of conversations would occur occasionally, usually at weak moments, and they would give me pieces of information to mull over at a later time.

I had been back at the task force now for nearly two months. I almost felt normal again, walking through the doors of the building each morning, and continuing on whatever case I was working on with Jesse. Each day usually started with me searching for him, actually. He never seemed to be in his office. He said he didn't like using it.

This morning I found Jesse eyebrow deep in files in the basement, his forehead screwed up in confusion and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Morning," I murmured.

His smile was easy. "Morning."

"What are we looking for?"

"Birth certificates of the victim's parents. It's like they never existed."

"Knowing our luck, they probably didn't." I sat down next to him, ignoring how close we were, and grabbed a stack. "What made you think they'd be down here?"

Jesse shrugged. "A hunch, I suppose."

A few hours and absolutely no success later, I threw the stack aside and sighed, thinking hard, summoning the man we needed.

The man appeared a few moments later, looking confused, like I had pulled him from bed. He had blonde hair in a comb-over, the way older men wore their hair while in denial over their follicle failure.

"Hi, Thomas," I greeted. Jesse's head jerked to me, and then his gaze followed mine. He would have seen nothing but empty space, but he nodded in understanding anyway.

"You can see me?" Thomas replied. The next few minutes contained the mandatory do-so-do that I had never really liked, informing the soul that they were yes, dead, and yes, I could see them but no, this wasn't a common thing and no, I couldn't bring them back. When I finally got some information out of him that I could use, I sighed in response.

"He's going to show me," I told Jesse. "But it's too far. I'll go up to my office and…you know." I hated the fact it was now expected of me. Any pretence of being normal had disappeared the moment I started back at the task force.

I had stood and was brushing off my skirt when Jesse grabbed my hand. It was so unexpected I froze.

"Wait," he said. He looked like he was going to say something else, then at the last minute his expression changed. "Just do it down here."

I looked at the filing cabinets in distaste. My hand was tingling, but I didn't want him to know that. We'd been so careful about physical contact; I wondered what had changed his mind. "No, it's okay. I'll be back soon."

Jesse didn't let my hand go. "I'll stay and keep watch, if that's what you're worried about."

He obviously had seen the deadbolt on my door that I had installed. Since what had happened with Sam, I always transcended behind a locked door. Always.

"It's not," I lied. "It's just…dark down here."

That was convincing. Jesse gave me a look that went right through me. I sighed.

"Fine. As long as you promise you're not going anywhere."

Again with the look. I tore my eyes away from him and cleared away several stacks of files, lying awkwardly down on the floor. I could feel his eyes—as well as Thomas'—on me as I grabbed a folder to prop underneath my head. My eyes closed for a moment, and then I opened them again.

"Before I go, what do we need to know, exactly?"

Jesse told me. I wondered what he was thinking, and then realised afterwards I probably didn't want to know. Apart from Paul, no one had seen me, well…transcend, before. It would look incredibly anticlimactic, to be honest. Like I was going to sleep.

"Okay," I murmured. I laid my hands over my stomach and relaxed. My head was filled with Jesse, but I pushed him out. I shut off my senses, concentrating on the cooling sensation seeping around my chest.

I went.

When I opened my eyes, the basement was full of varying shades of grey and shrouded in mist. Jesse was sitting against the wall, folder in hand, watching me lie on the floor, like I was taking a quick nap.

I walked out into the hallway with Thomas, so there were no distractions. It was deserted. If I had have been on the physical plane, my footsteps would have echoed. Instead I moved soundlessly.

I was gone a long time, getting the information we needed. Thomas had been more forthcoming than most, which had helped, but he'd needed time to sort his thoughts out, to remember, and it took a few shifting trips before I had all the information I needed. When I finally walked back into the basement, I skidded to a halt. Jesse had moved, but that wasn't what surprised me. What did surprise me was the he was sitting cross-legged, cradling my head in his lap.

Indignation was the noose around my neck, and hope was squeezing my heart in my chest.

Part of me wanted to walk back out and try to avoid the situation, but I knew from experience it wouldn't solve anything. I had learnt to face things head on, if I could.

I sighed, and moved back to my body. As I rose back to consciousness, all I could feel was the warmth of Jesse's body, and the steady reassurance of his hand running over my hair, his fingertips brushing my cheek.

I felt safe.

My eyes slowly opened, and all I could see was him. His face was neutral but his expression was soft, like he was transfixed. He didn't stop brushing my hair. The air was heavy between us, like it had been just before we'd kissed for the first time. Sparking with electricity. I found myself looking at his lips.

It was as if everything else was disappearing. My anger and feelings of loneliness, replaced with _this_. The two of us, just _being_, the way we had been.

Jesse broke the silence first. "That time I found you…and you said you were sleeping. You had just transcended, hadn't you?"

He didn't have to explain what he was talking about. I knew. "Yeah."

"What's it like?"

I realised that nobody had ever asked me that question. The only thing they had been interested in was what I could do with my ability, what the advantages of it were. But what it was like? No one seemed to care about that.

Well, except for Jesse.

The skin of my cheek prickled as he ran his fingertips down my face. I cleared my throat. "It's…the first time it was scary. I didn't know what had happened and I didn't know how to get back. I was in my bedroom, but…it didn't look like my bedroom. It looked like someone had taken all the bold colours and dulled them. Everything was washed out, and there was mist, fog, everywhere. And standing in front of me was my next door neighbour. She'd died, two weeks before, and I had been helping her out the way I always had. But I suppose she kind of explained to me where I was. I thought I'd died, until I saw my body, just lying there in my bed. Like I was sleeping."

"How'd you get back?" Jesse's voice was soft.

"I went to my body and laid on it, and I wished so hard to go back, to be normal. Nothing happened for a while, and I was starting to fear nothing would, and then I felt my body grow warmer. As I'd fallen asleep, it had felt like cold water had been slowly moving over me. Now it felt like it was receding, crawling back up into my chest. And then I could feel the sheets around me again, and I was back, and the mist was gone. All I could feel was an icy wind wrapping itself around me. I realised it was my next door neighbour, and then she appeared to me. I had always known ghosts could hide themselves from me, but I didn't know that I could do more than just communicate with them on my plane of existence. It scared me. I tried not to sleep for days afterwards."

"How old were you?"

"Eleven."

"And you've been doing it ever since?"

I shrugged. "More or less. Paul…he figured it all out before I did. When he came back to school a few years later, he helped me out and helped me understand. And until a few years ago, he was the only one who knew about my ability."

I paused for a moment, as the missing piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place. What I had been wondering in the hospital bed finally came together with clarity, and I felt like an idiot that I hadn't figured it out earlier. Paul hadn't been the only one who'd known about my ability. There _had_ been someone else.

If Jesse noticed my epiphany, he didn't comment on it. Instead he looked down at me with a tenderness I wasn't used to.

"You're an amazing person, Susannah. Don't ever think otherwise."

I knew a few people that would probably disagree with his statement, but I pushed that aside. I made my decision. I shifted until my head was resting against his knee, and reached up, my fingers dancing over his jaw, tracing over his lips. His eyes were deep and knowing, and I knew I didn't have to explain a thing to him. I pulled on the back of his neck, and he leant down, and when our lips met I knew nothing had changed.

He was still the man I'd kissed when I'd known him as Jesse, my doctor. He was still my light, and he was still the man I'd fallen for.

My heart rose in my chest and beat in double time as my hand intertwined around his and I breathed him in. As long as we had this, I knew we'd be okay. There wouldn't be any obstacle we couldn't face.

Jesse pulled back slightly.

"I'm sorry, Susannah. For every-"

I smiled and cut him off with ease. "I'm with you, Jesse," I answered with certainty. Because I was. Absolutely.

That seemed to be all he needed to hear. He placed his hand on my neck, his thumb brushing the underside of my jaw, as he kissed me again, the soft caress of his lips thrilling me to my toes. I almost missed it, his whispered words like breaths of air between kisses, but the words hit home with more impact than if he had have screamed it from the top of a canyon.

"_I love you."_


	48. Chapter FourtySeven

**Chapter Fourty-Seven**

**PRESENT TIME**

The phone was heavy in my hand as I picked it up. I double checked the details written on the sheet in front of me, evidence of one of the only perks that came with working for the task force again.

I typed a few buttons, and then fumbled, hanging up. I exhaled, trying to calm my racing heart, and punched in the buttons, evenly and rhythmically, like I was folding laundry or typing on a keyboard.

The connection took longer than the average phone call because it had further to go. Finally, after a series of clicks, it began to ring. Each ring went straight through me, and I found myself biting my nails.

And then, finally, I heard it connect, and a voice I had never expected to hear again came through.

"Hello?"

I cleared my throat. "Uh…is this Cee Cee McTavish?"

She was silent for so long I was scared she'd hung up. When she did reply, her voice was thick, unsure. "Speaking?"

"Cee Cee?" I bit my lip, tears flooding my eyes. "Cee, it's Suze."

Her reaction contained a lot of expletives and large words, something that was so typically Cee Cee it only made me cry harder. When she finally started talking coherently, it was one question, over and over. "How? _How_? We were so sure…we hadn't heard from you. We thought you were dead? Adam! Adam! Get your ass here!" I could hear her calling in the background.

She finally let me get a sentence in a few minutes later, after she had exhausted all the vocabulary she could think of.

"It's so good to hear your voice, Cee."

"_How_? How are you talking to me right now?" she asked again.

I shrugged, even though she couldn't see it, wiping the tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand. "I'm not dead just yet, girlfriend. Just hang in there. I'll explain everything to you soon."

"Dominic!" my voice rang out down the hall, stopping him.

He turned and looked at me, smiling in confusion. "Hey, Suze," he said as I came closer. "What's up?"

"I need to talk to you."

His confusion only increased, but he shrugged, leading me towards his office. He gestured inside and closed the door. "How can I help you?"

I skipped the pleasantries and turned around, resting against the table and looking at him levelly. "Four years ago, you got a promotion. How'd you get it?"

Dominic knew, and he knew that I knew, and I knew that he knew that I knew, all in the space of one sentence. It would have been humorous in any other situation but this one.

He looked uncomfortable, and started stacking books on the filing cabinet next to him. "Why are you interested? That was so long ago."

"It was, actually. But I'm interested. I think you know why I'm interested. So why don't you just tell me?"

Dominic looked over his shoulder. "It sounds like you already know the answer."

I shrugged. "I want to hear it straight from you, so there is no confusion."

"I…I told them a piece of information that I thought might be of use to them."

"You told them that I was a mediator," I said.

He nodded.

"How did you find out?" I asked.

"Bits and pieces, I suppose. Things people had said and things you'd said. The way you'd solved the cases. I tried to ask you about it, remember?"

I did. "'I heard you were the Allison DuBois of the task force'. I should have known."

"You all but confirmed it."

I hadn't, actually, but that wasn't the point. "Why did you tell them?"

Another shrug. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Dominic."

"I was stuck, Suze. Is that a better explanation? I was stuck, and I wanted to do something different, and no one was giving me the opportunity to do it unless I did something drastic."

"So you just upped and turned me in? I bet that made you sleep better at night."

He stopped stacking the books and shook his head. "It was…it was stupid. I didn't realise they'd do what they did. I thought they were just going to give you a little scare. I thought you deserved a little scare, after what you'd done to me."

I bit my lip. I'd rehearsed what I was going to say to Dominic in my head, over and over while I was trying to find him. The moment I'd learnt he was still at the task force, I was all set to crack some skulls. But I hadn't counted on him being honest. I hadn't counted on him feeling guilty.

I couldn't yell at honest and guilty.

"I just wish I had of known this whole time," I finally said, the hardness gone from my words. I should have felt anger, but instead I just felt the kind of satisfaction someone would feel if they learnt they'd won a prize that was now expired. It didn't change anything. "I've been accusing the wrong person."

Dominic nodded. "I'm sorry."

I gave him a smile without feeling, and left without another word.

Later that night, after I had gone to bed, I swiftly locked the door and transcended. From there I concentrated hard. After a few attempts, I found myself at the institution.

I had never thought I'd come back here willingly. I would never have come in person. But there was something I still needed to do, somebody I owed help to.

The lights were muted and everyone had been locked up for the night. The only movement was the occasional warden or security guard patrolling the halls. Everything was quiet. It seemed less haunting, now that I knew I could leave.

"Henrietta!" I called.

There was no response, but I didn't let that put me off. I concentrated on her and called again.

A few moments later she appeared, so suddenly it was if she had always been standing there.

"Well, it's about time," she remarked, looking bored. "I thought you'd forgotten about me."

I deserved that. "I'm sorry," I said. "Things have been…rather hectic, since I got out."

"You're not wading in self-loathing anymore I see. That's always nice."

"Self-loathing? Give me a break."

"Just saying what everyone is thinking. You look good though. Happier."

"Speaking of which, you don't sound surprised that I'm not here anymore."

Henrietta grinned. "Of course I'm not. I told you, remember? Keep yourself open to the opportunities heading your way. I knew your boys were trying to get you out."

"And you couldn't have just told me that? It would have saved a little trouble."

"If I had have told you, that would have changed everything. Things worked out just as they should have."

"I nearly died," I reminded her.

"But you didn't. Look at you, dwelling in the past. Move on. It's over."

Good to hear that Henrietta had developed a sense of humour after death.

"It might be over for me, but what about you? What are you waiting for?"

Henrietta smoothed her hair back off her forehead, and shook her head like I was an idiot. "You? You see, this place…well, I don't think I need to explain what it was like for me. And to see another person go down the exact same path? You getting out, it's almost like I'm free, too. And I've been waiting for you to come back so you can escort my ass out of here."

I really was stupid. "Sorry," I said, moving forward to take her arm. "That's all you needed?"

Henrietta nodded emphatically. "Pretty sure. If I don't disappear, well…it was something else, and I'll just annoy you further. Anyway, can we go? I'm sick as hell of this place."

We linked arms, and walked casually down the halls and towards the exit. "You could have done this alone, you know."

She looked at me. "That would have been hardly the point."

Together, we said goodbye to Carmel Mental Health Hospital as we walked out the front doors, past the security, past the wardens, and past the outside fence. The grassy hills looked muted and peaceful, the silver from the moon blending in with the mist.

Henrietta sighed. She was no longer looked sharp; it was almost as if she was standing behind frosted glass. She had begun to fade the moment we had stepped outside. I wish I had hugged her earlier, expressed my gratitude in another way other than words. But words were all I had now.

"Thanks," I told her. "For everything."

I barely saw her roll her eyes, looking pleased. "Oh, get out of here already."

And then she was gone.


	49. Chapter FourtyEight

"_I'm learning to walk again  
I believe I've waited long enough.  
Where do I begin?"_

Foo Fighters: "Walk"

**Chapter Fourty-Eight**

**PRESENT TIME – 4 MONTHS LATER**

My hands were full. I placed the first bouquet down on the grass, transferring a kiss to my fingers and placing them on the name.

Henrietta's headstone looked fresh; one of the newer plaques in the area. I was filled with sadness, and yet I knew she was at peace. I laid a bouquet next to a few others that had succumbed to the elements. One of the bouquets, which had once been a bunch of white roses, was now shrivelled and held together by a knotted ribbon.

I spent a little time at Henrietta's headstone, feeling the wind wrap around me. I wondered where she was now. Could she still see me? Something told me I wouldn't find out until it was my turn.

After some time had passed, I travelled down the cobblestoned path towards the other side of the cemetery. There were only a few others in the cemetery that I could see; a couple, off in the distance, and what looked to be an extended family with grandparents and small children in the next row over from where I was walking. I tried not to visit cemeteries much; a headstone made things so much more permanent. When you have the ability to connect with spirits after death, nothing really feels final.

It may have been years, but seeing Vicki's name filled me with a different kind of sorrow; a guilt that would never leave me for as long as I lived. I placed flowers down next to her, wishing I could tell her how sorry I was. How thankful I was for her friendship and her loyalty. How she had wilfully thrown herself into danger because she believed it was the right thing to do.

The guilt I felt for Vicki was nothing compared to what I felt when I approached my mother's headstone. I sank to my knees and let the tears fall freely. My fingers were shaky as I rearranged the roses I had bought her. I placed them carefully next to a grand arrangement that didn't even look a day old.

It had been nearly four years, but not a day had passed when I didn't wish that I could have changed things. I would have gone through it all over again, I would have freely suffered worse, if it had of spared my mother. One thing four years had taught me was that you can never change what was, only what was going to be. I would mourn my mother for the rest of my life, but I also knew that I had to make my life worthwhile. My mother would have expected it. She would have encouraged it. I could imagine her, sitting across from me on the couch, drinking her third coffee for the day and telling me all her plans. It had always amazed me how she found the time to accomplish so much every day, but I suppose I always knew. She had a plan, and she always had a plan, and she never hesitated.

Don't look back.

I didn't pay any mind to the crunch of gravel until it was right behind me, but even then I didn't look up straight away. It might have been instinct, or intuition, but I knew who it was, and I knew why he was here.

"I heard the news," he said, his voice soft.

I shut my eyes for a moment and slowly rose to face him. Paul was standing in a shirt and jeans, hands in his pockets, watching me the way he always had. His hair was shorter and his trademark smirk was sitting on his face.

"I thought I'd find you here."

I nodded, looking over my shoulder at my mother's grave. "I needed to say goodbye."

"My mother has come here every week, you know. Since the funeral."

That explained the flowers, big and bold and obnoxiously beautiful. They were so obviously from Nancy I wondered why I didn't think of her the moment I saw them.

"How is Nancy?"

Paul shrugged. "She's wonder woman inside a liquor bottle, as always." He looked at me steadily. "Why?"

I sighed, pushing away the hair the wind had blown into my face. "Why not? I don't really have any reason to stay here, Paul."

He frowned, and walked a few steps towards me. I hadn't seen this man in four months, and yet he was still so familiar to me. He probably always would be. He had always been such a large stakeholder in my life; no amount of time would erase that. I had missed him so much…but I also knew that the space had been good for the both of us.

Paul looked content. Not happy, but content.

I'd never seen him look content before.

"There is," he answered. "You can stay. You don't need to run away."

"I'm not running away," I said. For the first time in my life, I was totally and completely telling the truth. "I'm just ready for a change. I need a change."

I took his hand and kissed his palm, squeezing it reassuringly. Paul moved closer, holding out his arms, and pulled me into a hug. In that one movement, I knew we were okay. I sighed and relaxed, putting my arms around him. He still smelled the way he always had, and it was warm inside his embrace.

"Will I ever see you again?" he murmured against my ear.

"Of course you will," I murmured. I inhaled deeply. "Just…not for a while." I hugged him tighter. It was like I was saying goodbye to a part of myself, in a way. "I'm going to miss you."

"You better," he replied. He sighed heavily. "Let me know if you need anything."

I nodded. Paul held me tighter for a moment and then released me, turning swiftly and heading towards his car, his strides long and fast.

I felt a few tears of my own run down my cheeks as I watched him leave, but they weren't tears of sorrow. There was a smile on my face, too.

Airports are always confusing places to me. There are so many people with different destinations darting around each other, each display board contains a dizzying array of flights and times, and the loudspeaker blares at frequent intervals a monotone buzz I can barely decipher. I was staring at a display board now, watching my flight slowly move upwards and attempting to ignore the buzz of nervousness and anticipation that was settled firmly in my stomach.

A cup was pushed into my hands, and I instantly smelt the aroma of strong caffeine. I smiled, my fingers lacing through those of the person standing next to me. My nervousness settled, but the anticipation stayed prominent.

"Brunei?" My expression was puzzled as I glanced over at Jesse. "Who goes to Brunei? I've never heard of that place."

Right on time, we heard the final call for Brunei over the loud speaker. In the distance, we saw the commotion of two very late backpackers running towards their terminal.

"They do?" Jesse replied innocently. A little too innocently for my state of mind.

Which reminded me: "There is civilisation where we are going, right? It's not going to be the middle of…what did you call it again?"

"It's called 'woop woop', and no, it's not. I promise there is plumbing too. Hot water…" he leant down and placed a kiss on my cheek, right next to my ear, and grinned. I shivered, squeezing his hand tighter.

"Ice cream?" I asked. "And they have ice cream?"

"Naturally."

I laid my head on his shoulder as we continued to watch the board. I was aware I was grinning rather stupidly, but I couldn't bring myself to care. It had been a long six months, but it had brought me to where I was standing now, in the middle of the international airport, holding hands with Jesse.

It had been slow going, building our relationship again, and considering our relationship had never been what you consider normal, everything—even something as basic as dinner and a movie—was a new development. But I had quickly realised that I had made the right decision letting Jesse back in.

He was so assured of himself, so secure in his abilities, and his presence—the very thing that initially drew me to him in the mental institution—was even stronger when he was in his element. He knew me too, on a level I didn't realise you could know a person. You read in novels about finding a person that is your equal, not just your partner. I had no idea such a thing was true until now.

Realising this had taken time, but Jesse had waited patiently for me to figure it out on my own. I think he knew that was the only way I'd accept it all. He was right.

Jesse was everything I could want. Beginning, middle and end. I didn't want anybody else.

And I trusted him. Oh boy, I trusted him, more than I had trusted anybody else before. When he had first suggested the plan to me a few weeks before, I'd accepted it without much thought. He'd known I'd wanted change. This…_this_ was change.

"You promise you won't sell me into slavery once we get there?" I joked, taking a sip of coffee. I was momentarily put into a caffeine coma, and almost missed his reply.

"Unfortunately for me, slavery has been long over. You will have to meet my parents though. And my sisters."

I swallowed a little too much coffee, and I choked. "Right. Of course."

He squeezed my hand. "If I know them at all, they'll love you."

"They've never met me."

"They've heard enough about you."

"That's not helping."

"You like beer, don't you?"

"Yes?" I wondered what that had to do with anything.

"Then you'll get along perfectly."

"If you say so."

He ran a hand down my hair, which was slightly longer. I'd missed my hair; I was glad it was growing out again. Jesse seemed to like it too, not that he'd said anything when I'd cut it. His fingers found my jaw and turned my face up towards him, looking at me with humour in his eyes, and something else that had taken some getting used to, but I didn't mind in the slightest. It made me feel warm; happiness rose in my chest, thick and consuming.

"Love you." My words were barely audible, but I know he heard them. Jesse's grin was bright and his lips met mine, soft at first, then demanding.

The loudspeaker broke us apart, informing us we could begin to board our flight. It was probably a good thing too; I wondered if you could get busted by security for making out too much in an airport.

Probably.

I shivered. We were really going.

"You ready?" Jesse asked, holding me close.

I nodded and turned, taking one last look around me, and then settled my eyes back on the man standing in front of me.

"Absolutely."

The beach was beautiful, so different to what I was used to, but all that Jesse had promised it would be. The water was a deep blue in the distance, changing to a murky green closer to shore. The sound of the waves crashing loudly filled my ears as we travelled down the sandbank together.

Jesse was running enthusiastically, pulling me towards the water. The sand was soft and we kept tripping, laughing hysterically. It was late in the afternoon, but the sun was still bright, burning into my skin in a pleasant way.

I breathed the warm, briny air in deeply, letting it fill my soul, spinning and laughing, feeling my skirt wrap around my legs.

"Is that…?" I heard Jesse ask. I stopped and looked in the direction he was gazing.

A man and a woman were walking down the sandbank in the distance, chasing after what looked to be a toddler. The little boy was tripping more than it was running, but it didn't seem to mind. The woman leant down to pick him up and he squealed gleefully. The sun reflected off her platinum blonde hair, giving her away.

Then I was running, running. I couldn't stop running. I heard Jesse laugh behind me, but I knew he would catch up. He always would.

I ran, not just towards Cee Cee and Adam, but towards something I thought I'd lost forever. It had a sensation incomparable to anything that existed, because its existence was only a matter of perception…but it was a perception that was so beautiful to experience that I could almost cry.

Freedom.

-FIN-

**A/N: Again, thank you to every one who has ever read this or is reading this right now. I'm sorry it took so long. Life happens, sometimes in such fast and powerful bursts that time just passes without even so much as a wave. I'm glad I can finally show the ending the way it was always intended, and I hope it hasn't disappointed anybody. As always, your comments are greatly appreciated. I'm no longer writing fanfiction, so any help you can give that I can apply to my own novels would be amazing. Thanks again!**

**Sarah x**


End file.
